


Déjà Vu

by adenium (peccolia)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Frisk is Reader's age, Gen, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, POV Second Person, Pretty much the whole crew, Psychological, Selectively Mute Frisk, They probably will, rating for violence and swearing and probably bloody stuff, ships to be revealed later if they happen, tags to be added as story progresses, timefoolery and other stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:52:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6524632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peccolia/pseuds/adenium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Please take my ashes to Mount Ebott.</i>
</p>
<p>Those were you best friend’s final wishes, and you were more than willing to abide them. You could have done without all the adventure it entailed, though. And why does everything seem so familiar…?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End is the Beginning

Nature was beautiful.

A pure blue sky, untouched by any cotton fluff of clouds for miles. Bright, clear sunlight saturating everything, drawing out the deepest, most vibrant colors in a vivid display of …life.

Funny, how all of the bleeding color seemed so utterly cheerful and happy when you held the ashes of your best friend in your hands.

Really, this was why you were out hiking in the first place—for _them_. To fulfill their final wish.

_Please take my ashes to Mount Ebott._

It was a simple statement. Not poetry, a joke, not even a farewell. It was instruction; seven lonely words that didn’t even preface a last will and testament. It was something you’d expect to see on a refrigerator note, scrawled right alongside the week’s grocery list and daily cartoon doodle.

You didn’t pay it much attention at first. It was too hard to do while sobbing your eyes out and not even wanting to really keep moving forward when your _friend_ , your _family_ , your _soulmate_ no longer existed in this world. So for quite some time, you ignored it. Kept the small jar pushed back to the farthest edge of your book shelf, half-hidden behind the TV you no longer watched. Just like you ignored the empty room in your home.

It wasn’t as easy to ignore the hole in your heart but slowly, steadily, it mended itself and you realized you would be committing a great injustice to keep your friend from their final resting place any longer.

There was no one else left to do it for them, after all.

Tears sprang into your eyes and you blamed the burning sunlight instead of the pangs of grief, but you kept moving forward, climbing towards the summit because scattering the ashes anywhere else seemed wrong. They deserved the best; to be at the top of the world.

One last time.

But the mountain was tricky, treacherous, and you weren’t prepared for such a steep climb. Gradually, the mountain itself became an obstacle and you were crawling forward, digging shoes and hands into the unyielding earth, grasping for handholds, slipping—

—righting yourself and trying again.

At long last, you made it to the top. Wheezing, sweating, but successful.

You snaked your way through long-since forgotten and frayed, fallen safety ropes and rotted wood signs until you reached the edge of the famed crack that opened into a deep, hollow cave within the mountain.

_This_ was your friend’s final resting place.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the tightly-sealed tin, knowing the moment you opened it and released the ashes it would truly be goodbye. 

So, you did it. No point in making them wait any longer. It was always better to rip off the bandaid quick.

The fine dust arced through the air, curling in on itself as the breeze grabbed it, and swirling about as bits and pieces dropped into the chasm below. A sudden gust caught it, caught _you_ , pushed at your jacket and gripped you, leaving you swaying near the edge. You threw out your arms, struggled for balance, tried to keep your weight away from the abyss, but it was too late.

You fell with the ashes.

* * *

_‘…Fuck.’_

That’s all you could muster up in your mind as you let your tired eyes rove across the small patch of perky, velvety golden flowers surrounding your body—not doing a damn thing for a soft landing after such a hard fall. The sharp pains racing up and down your spine—not to mention the odd angle of your sprawled arm—confirmed a few things were broken on contact.

That wasn’t all.

Falling down into a hollowed out _mountain_ for god knows how many feet was bound to leave you more than just a little busted up.

It was difficult breathing, and when you did succeed in inhaling and exhaling properly, it was all rasp and rattle, not enough life left in you to rustle the leaves tickling your tear-stained cheeks.

You didn’t remember waking up, but you knew there was no way in hell you hadn’t blacked out a few times thanks to this mess. It was more like reality came in like the ebb and flow of a rising tide, swimming between blackened spots in your vision and the light bearing down on you from above through the cracks in the mountain. 

You thought you could feel your friend’s ashes coating the tops of the flowers. Really, it was probably just dirt. But if you were going to die from this, you didn’t want to do it alone. It was selfish, considering _they’d_ died alone, but you were willing to accept that. They had always done far more for you than you could ever possibly match, and leaving you to die alone was something they would never do.

And…it looked like you would see them again real soon.

_‘At least I did one thing right…’_

As your eyes struggled to remain open, and ultimately failed, you missed the golden twinkle rise up from the flowers and slowly flicker to you, hovering just above your chest.

* * *

The next time you opened your eyes, moving was easier. Breathing wasn’t a struggle.

There was no longer a pillar of bright light spilling down through the mountain’s gaping maw. Instead, a cold, muted aura permeated the cave, but the stars and moon above were too far away to see.

You stretched out your fingers, moved your arms—made sure they were in one piece, still strong—and knocked against a metallic tin that scraped along the ground, flower stems fluttering around it. You reached further and slowly pulled the container towards you, grasping it securely in your palm before sitting up—carefully, carefully—and releasing a weary breath when no aches or pains wracked your body. 

_‘Looks like I’m still here.’_

The golden flowers—no longer gold in this light, but a deep tan that still glittered with dew—carpeted most of the grand cavern floor. You weren’t entirely sure there was a floor, since you couldn’t see it. At least, if you weren’t sitting on it, you wouldn’t be sure. Slowly, you moved to your feet, watching as the petals swallowed you up to your ankles.

The sight seemed familiar. Or maybe it was just déjà vu.

Whatever it was, you needed to get out of there.

You returned the empty ash tin to your jacket pocket, hold lingering on it for a long, reverent moment, before you made your way through the flowers and searched for an exit.

There—just between the craggy walls was an opening big enough for you to shimmy through. And you nearly did, but there was a problem. The further away you got from the hole in the ceiling, the harder it was to see. But—of course! You searched your jeans for the bulging shape of your phone with a triumphant grin, yet it was absent. With a sigh, you returned to the flower patch where you fell and sank your arms into the petals, fingers splaying across the ground for your lost device. It didn’t take long to find the familiar shape. But…you also found broken glass and plastic. You shook the phone, held the power button, desperately hoping it jolted to life. Even with cracked sides and a spider-webbed screen, it could still work. …Right?

You held your breath, counting the seconds as you waited for something, anything, to happen.

The screen flashed to life.

Immediately, you checked the signal—and weren’t surprised to see there was none. Under a mountain, it was all dead air. Battery level was at 20 percent and draining by the minute. You considered launching the flashlight app, but realized it would eat up whatever power remained before you could really get anywhere. Flashing the screen would have to do, for now.

If you were lucky, it would last long enough to lead you out of this place. And considering you were still alive after that fall, you felt pretty damn lucky.

The chasm you found before _was_ just big enough for you to fit through, though the jutting rocks snagged on your clothes and almost didn’t want you to pass. You were glad to have your phone’s light—the pathway had a sharp slope that would have had you stumbling if you didn’t see it, but even though you knew it was there it was awkward navigating it with only brief flickers of light to guide you along.

A narrow tunnel awaited you past the divide.  You had little choice but to keep moving forward, so you followed it, keeping an eye out for, well, anything, as you ran your hand along the rocky walls and shuffled along.

When your fingers met something strange, you paused. Flicked on your phone and aimed it around you, realizing that somewhere along the way the packed rocks and pebbles had changed into smooth, brick walls with vaulted ceilings. Crumbling, covered in moss and just as run-down and earthy looking as the cave, but a testament to civilization. _A way out._

After a brief glance at your remaining battery power, you threw caution to the wind and flicked on your flashlight app, running as fast as you could down the corridor.

Gradually, the bricks gave way to more earthen walls and underground plants, and through the broken ceiling, the cave ceiling returned.

By then, you were out of breath. You illuminated the path beyond you to confirm the underground had reclaimed the manmade tunnel, darkness stretching out as far as the eye could see, unyielding.

And at that moment, your phone decided to short out. The LED light flickered, flashed, before fizzling out and leaving you doused in black. You smacked the phone against your palm, shook it, jabbed the buttons, begged it to come back because that _couldn’t_ be the last of its battery, but nothing happened.

With little else to do, you continued walking, keeping your hand pressed firmly to the wall and testing the ground ahead with cautious steps, dodging fallen rubble, raised roots and stone along the way.

Any way you looked at it, this was a hopeless situation.

You’d be trapped there forever.

You’d starve.

You’d die.

It seemed to be fact, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to give up and believe that completely. If you just kept going…if you just kept walking…

If you just held onto _determination…_

Slowly, the darkness began to ease. A faint light appeared around the bend, pulling you forward like a moth to flame. Again, you ran.

The tunnel opened up into a pillar-lined chamber somewhat like that flower-ridden one you’d woken up in. There was no sea of golden flowers, here—there was only one.

Standing tall beneath a ray of sunlight.

Your shoe cracked a twig underfoot as you slowly approached the light—and the instant the sound echoed through the cavern, the flower whipped around to face you with a nasty leer and the ground shook beneath you with an angry tremor.

A startled yelp left your lips as you backpedaled and tripped over yourself, landing hard on your backside, scrambling backwards across the dirt until your back hit a crumbling pillar to put distance between you and that—that— _thing?_ Flowers weren’t supposed to have _faces!_ They weren’t even supposed to _move!_ Well, sunflowers _did_ follow the sun, but—but it just didn’t work like that.

Then, as if it were all just a trick of the light, the demonic glare ringed by yellow flower petals shifted into a kindly smile that resembled a fun emoji. Less unsettling, but still not…normal.

“Oh—golly, you startled me! That was an awful hard fall, are you okay?” The voice was high and squeaky—like a cartoon’s—and brimming with dramatic worry. It swayed on its stem, almost shrinking in on itself in apology as its petals fluttered and its eyes met yours shyly.

Still, something screamed within you and set you on edge, and as you gave a dry swallow, trying to get ahold of your nerves, you couldn’t help but think there was something off about this. Besides having a flower, of all things, talking to you.

Maybe you never did make it out of that flower room.

Maybe you were already—

The flower clearing its throat interrupted your thoughts. Its face tilted in concern as it eyed you (eyes that were far too kind), realizing you weren’t going to give an answer. Beady, smiling eyes studied you for a few moments. “Anyway… Howdy, I’m Flowey. Flowey the Flower! What’s your name?”

Your lips moved. When you spoke, no words came out. Dry—your throat was dry and you realized just how long you’d gone without water. You cleared your throat and finally succeeded in choking out a few raspy syllables. “I’m…I’m Y/N.” You dug your shaking fingers into the dirt, not yet having the nerve to push yourself back to your feet.

“Well, Y/N, it’s pretty strange seeing someone like you down here in the Underground! Bet it’s strange for you, too.” A cheerful grin persisted on its face.

“Y…you have no idea,” you managed to reply, feeling a little sick, but your words went ignored as the plant continued speaking over you.

“Say, you’re not looking so well, buddy!” Its eyes darted from side to side, grin remaining glued in place, before meeting yours. “I guess I’ll have to help you out a little since I’m the only one here.” Its eyelids creased in glee. “I know what you need. Some good old ‘friendliness pellets.’ That always does the trick!”

“Um, no—what? I’m fine. I’ll just…I’ll go.” Finally, you found your courage in the face of this weirdness and moved to your feet, but as soon as you took a step forward, a strange lurch in your chest halted you in your tracks. Your hand shot up to your chest, gripping at your jacket, but what your hands met wasn’t a metallic zipper track—it was something small and warm, pulsing against your fingers. You pulled your zipped jacket far enough away from your body to look inside and saw a red, heart-shaped thing hovered near your sternum. You were so distracted by the object, trying to grab it and pull it away, throw it away, even, but failing to make it budge even an inch, that you didn’t see the white, petal-shaped lights rising up around the flower.

“Here! Catch as many as you can!”

_Move._

Startled by the sudden voice (whose voice? You and the flower were alone, weren’t you?), you looked up just in time to see a line of ‘pellets’ zooming towards you—and colliding with your side as you tried to sidestep the spooky things. You grit your teeth after letting out a sharp cry. A burning, acidic pain spread where the objects struck, and the heart on your jacket jolted painfully. It hurt. _It hurt._ A wave of weakness sloshed through your body as the pain dulled, and you found yourself dropping to your knees, feeling closer to death than you were when you fell into that hole.

“WHAT AN IDIOT.” The same demonic face you were sure you’d seen before returned, transforming the creepy-cute Flowey into something a little more villainous—but still goofy. “Did you really think you could dodge those bullets? You humans are all the same! So STUPID!” A cruel smile split its face. “But don’t worry. I’ll take good care of your poor, stupid soul when I kill you.”

A wheel of bullets circled around Flowey as his murderous glare fixed on your weakened form.

“What? What did I _do?_ ” You struggled to return to your feet, but found it impossible. Life was draining from you faster than your stupid smart phone. “I just…want to get out of here…” Your entire body was shaking, hurting.

But, still, that flicker of determination refused to get snuffed out.

The malicious smile returned—yet, as you succeeded in rising to your feet, it faltered.  Then it returned full force, with more vigor than before, as the bullet wheel trapped you and closed in. “Just die instead.”

You clutched your ‘heart’ protectively and squeezed your eyes shut, body tensing, as you prepared for impact.

Yet none came.

“ _You_ ,” Flowey growled out in a guttural voice that scraped harshly through your ears. “You again? You’re doing this _AGAIN, _____?_ ” The final words were obscured in static, distorted, yet you felt like you knew the name. Again, you swore you felt the earth tremble beneath your feet.

You cautiously opened one eye and immediately flinched back when met with the sight of the red heart floating before you, no longer hidden beneath your jacket.

Then, the flower laughed. Threw its head back and gave a screeching cackle that nearly had you in tears.

“You never fail to disappoint me! Always bringing something new. But that’s why I like you so much, _____.” Slowly, the twisted, wicked face calmed down into the emoji smile. And instead of talking to air—because it sure as hell hadn’t been speaking to you before, you were certain—the flower finally addressed you in its sickly sweet, fake tone. “You’re lucky, Y/N. I don’t feel like killing you anymore! But you should know, not everyone is as… _merciful_.” Flowey’s eyes crinkled deviously before, just like that, it sank into the earth, out of sight.

You didn’t realize how much you’d been shaking until you collapsed to the ground once more, breathing heavily. The red heart no longer hovered in front of you, but returned to its place within your jacket. Through a veil of sweat, you felt the pain surge through you once more, beating back the adrenaline to reclaim its rightful place among your nerve endings.

You took one last glance at the light seeping into the cavern from above before everything dissolved in darkness.

* * *

**CONTINUE <**

**RESET**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh you ever start writing something and then stop and think, wait—this isn't what I meant to write... ?
> 
> Yeah. It's gonna be heavy. It might be terrible. It might be decent.
> 
> Things will be explained along the way but if you have questions, shoot?


	2. Memories I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't let me burst your bubble but here's a few things you should know that I better say before 2am rolls around and I forget:
> 
> 1\. This is still the same story. This technically goes hand-in-hand with the first chapter but I was too tired to post them together. Consider this an interlude of sorts.
> 
> 2.Despite the rating (or lackthereof) there will be no smut or anything like it in this fic I'm just terrible at choosing proper ratings. It’ll range from a general audience to mature.
> 
> 3\. I updated the relationships tag but bear in mind THIS IS NOT reader/frisk. I could be wrong but the '&' is exclusively used for platonic/friendship ships, right? There still will possibly be a different ship in the future.
> 
> 4\. I’m shooting for 10-15 chapters total here.
> 
> 5\. (I’ve been using InteractiveFics for reading reader inserts lately and I highly recommend using it for this fic! But I could be late to the party and everyone already uses it anyway…I don’t know.)
> 
> 6\. That’s all. Thanks for making it to chapter 2. If you’re confused, don’t worry. I am too.

 

_A knock sounded on the front door._

_Of course you didn’t hear it—you were dead asleep, tangled up in sheets with half of your body hanging precariously close to the edge of the mattress, mouth hanging half-open and snoring._

_A short series of soft knocks soon followed._

_Again, you were oblivious. Enjoying a rather pleasant dream that you were loath to leave, since that type of peace was so rare._

_Then, a loud succession of booming knocks slammed against the door, effectively yanking you from slumber and toppling you right onto the floorboards._

_“I’m up—I’m UP. I’m coming! Hold on, shit,” you cursed out in a voice thick with sleep and irritation, confused as to who in the hell would so rudely interrupt your morning—your eyes slid to the alarm clock—er, mid-afternoon nap. Probably a salesman. Probably someone you could safely ignore._

_You reached up blindly to grab the cardigan sprawled across your bed, fumbling with it when it slipped to the ground, but quickly yanked it up and threw it over your pajamas as you stumbled to your feet, yawning wide._

_It wasn’t until you were halfway through your morning ritual when you realized there_ was _a reason for the visitor to be knocking so loudly._

_Someone scheduled an interview for your open roommate ad._

_That scheduled appointment was today._

_Actually, it was fifteen minutes ago._

_“Shit!”_

_Forget brushing your hair—you yanked your toothbrush out of your mouth and did an abrupt about-face that had your socks slipping on the tiles, but by some miracle you regained your balance and broke into a mad sprint towards the door._

_“HI!” you burst out as you flung the door open, breathless. “So sorry about that!”_

_The sudden greeting left your visitor stunned. Their lips were parted, as if debating speaking or simply keeping to their silence, but it quickly shifted into a small smile as they shook their head. It was then you noticed they held something strange in their hands—a large notepad, complete with a sharpie marker. It was open to a page, partially concealed by their arms, that read:_

**_Hello, Y/N. It’s me, Frisk. I’m here for the interview._ **

_“Frisk, right…?” Your eyes snapped up to their face as you tested the name. They had a calm, placid—and vaguely sad—expression. Olive-colored skin, kind, slanted eyes, a small nose, unruly, chin-length brown hair—it all matched the photo you’d seen during the initial screening of your prospective roommate, when you’d exchanged emails._

_They nodded._

_“Come on in.”_

_Always the polite one, you held the door open with a smile and stood aside, gesturing for them to enter with a swish of your hand._

_They weren’t particularly tall or short for their age, which was a few months shy of your own, you were told, and outwardly they were plain, with brown hair and eyes, jeans, a striped sweater—yet there was a certain, simple grace in it all and they looked a hell of a lot more put together than you._

_Ever since you received their application and talked a bit online, you had a good feeling about them._

_Maybe because they were the only one even remotely interested in boarding in a large lake house property way out in the sticks—but. Probably not._

_Oh, who were you kidding? Frisk was the only one to respond to your ad and it had been posted up on every free site and newspaper you could find for over half a year._

_You were desperate._

_You didn’t realize you’d been standing in the same place spacing out for more than a minute before Frisk stopped walking and sent a curious glance your way. With a wry grin, you closed the door and followed after them, hoping they didn’t think you were a total weirdo but, well, if the interview flopped, you wouldn’t really blame them._

_But still, there was hope._

_“You want something to drink?” you asked after they took a seat on the cream-colored sofa set across from two floral armchairs._

_They shook their head no._

_“Oh. Okay. Uh,” you took a moment to sit on one of the armchairs before remembering you prepared a list of questions for the interview—but forgot where you’d put the folder. Better not let them find out you were unprepared. You cleared your throat and smoothed your hands along the armrests, noticing a small coffee stain and idly picking at it before returning your gaze to the brunet. Time to wing it. “So, Frisk,” you began, hoping you sounded official but also friendly. “Tell me about yourself. What brings you here?”_

_They hesitated a moment—took hold of the notepad and flipped it to a new page and uncapped the sharpie, letting it hover over the page for a brief moment before scrawling out a few words. Then, they turned it to face you._

**_I’m looking for peace and quiet. I have more than enough reliable income to pay my share of the rent._ **

_Straight and to the point. You masked your surprise—because, really, who could resist an allegedly well-off roommate when they were struggling just to pay the bills from one month to the other? But—no. That wasn’t the answer you were looking for. That wasn’t the reason you needed a roommate._

_They must have taken your silence for something bad, because they held out another note._

**_Is this way of talking a problem?_ ** _They tapped the sharpie against the metal spiral coil atop the notepad emphatically._

_“Oh—no, no way.” You held up your hands and shook your head. “I can read it—we can understand each other. So it’s fine. But, well—tell me about yourself. What do you like? What do you not like?”_

_They watched you for a moment, dark eyes thoughtful, before they bent their head over the notepad and wrote out a response._

_You couldn’t help it—you leaned forward in your seat as you watched, trying to catch sight of the words spreading across the page in their neat, deliberate handwriting. It was a curious thing, but they did mention in emails that they communicated in a…different way. And it suddenly registered why they’d asked if you knew American Sign Language and then didn’t bring it up again when you replied that you didn’t._

_You didn’t really mind this turn of events—you weren’t much of a talker, yourself, when it wasn’t necessary. But if things panned out—you would definitely look up ASL lessons online._

_Frisk suddenly looked up and held out the notepad page, which was crammed full of sentences in that peculiar, large, readable print._

**_I like traveling. I worked as an ambassador for a while, but not anymore._ ** _(Here, there was a stray mark of hesitation, and a scratched-out word, but you didn’t pay it much mind. The money question was answered, though.) **I also like cooking. Desserts, mostly, like pies. But spaghetti and pasta dishes are things I’ve gotten pretty good at, too.**_

**_There’s not much I don’t like._ **

**_What do you think about…monsters?_ **

_Your eyes scanned along the words, and paused when they reached the end. You glanced up at Frisk as they watched you in turn, expression set almost tensely as they awaited your response._

_“Monsters?” You let out a low hum and crossed your arms, leaning back into the chair. “I’ve never gotten the chance to meet one. Only really seen them on TV—like, um, Metatron? That robot celebrity.” You were sure you’d said the name wrong, but Frisk didn’t call attention to it. “But the people who hate them are trash.” You fixed them with a level stare as they held your gaze and then wrote a response._

**_Good answer._ _For a minute there, I thought this interview was over. I’m extremely pro-monster._**

_You laughed a little uneasily. Did that mean they were an activist? A busy one? No—someone like that wouldn’t be out here, so far away from towns and rally centers._

**_What about you, Y/N?_ **

_The laugh faded. “Me? Well… I’ve only been here for about a year. I…like keeping to myself. I don’t get out much. My job—I’m an artist. Sounds a little unreliable, probably, but companies hire me to illustrate logos and posters and stuff and it’s mostly email correspondence, but there’s money there. So don’t ever think the rent will completely fall on you.”_

_Besides, this was your grandparents’ place. But they didn’t need to know that. Even if you were low on cash, payments still went through, because your family was always willing to help even if you did your best to reject it._

_When the ringing silence met your ears, you realized you’d spoken quite a bit—despite being the only one speaking at all._

_At length, Frisk nodded, and scratched something else across the page._

**_Why did you come out here?_ **

_You were quick to shoot the question down. “That’s personal.”_

_They hesitated, brow furrowing as they bit their lip._

**_I’m sorry._ **

_“…It’s a big house. I thought it would be fine for me, but it’s big. And lonely. Having someone else moving about would be nice.” Seeing such a worried expression on their face yanked at your heartstrings—you were rambling something out before you realized it. And immediately slapped a hand over your mouth, face flushing._

_Their mouth opened in surprise as they leaned back, caught by surprise, before they smiled._

**_No one wants to be alone. But why not a dog?_ **

_The question caught you off-guard. You sat up straight, put your hands on your knees, and glanced away a little shyly. “I’m, uh…allergic.”_

_They laughed—again, you were caught off-guard by the sound (it was a nice laugh) and your gaze snapped up to Frisk._

**_Allergic to dogs? Really? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh,_ ** _was quickly written out._

_“N-no, it’s fine. It’s true, though. I had to get rid of my first pet because of that.” You managed a small grin, realizing it was a little ridiculous and sad._

_You and Frisk continued the back-and-forth Q-and-A session for nearly an hour, gradually becoming more accustomed to each other and hitting it off quite well. At one point, you’d gotten up to make the two of you some coffee and a late lunch of sandwiches, and things were comfortable. Even to the point where they made a light jab at your informal appearance of pajamas and unbrushed hair, much to your mortification. But you both laughed it off._

_But—as the questions passed, it came to your attention that the person seemed familiar, somehow. They had a face you’d seen somewhere, but you just couldn’t place it._

_“Hey, where did you say you were from, again?”_

_They paused mid-writing, and the grin playing at their lips fell as they glanced at you briefly before slowly writing out a reply in the border of their notebook._

**_Ebott City._ **

_It clicked._

_“Ambassador…pro-monster…Ebott City? You’re_ that _Frisk?” You didn’t mean anything by the comment, but Frisk was clearly startled, especially when your eyes were so wide in wonder._

_They rose abruptly to their feet, knees knocking against the coffee table and rattling your lunch plates and coffee cups, and gathered their notepad in their arms before hurrying to the hallway. The stricken expression remained on their face as they disappeared around the corner, and you shook yourself out of the shock of it all just in time to follow after them._

_“Wait! What—what’s that about? You still want to live here, don’t you? We can get the paperwork done and you can move in immediately if you still do, just—”_

_The front door slammed behind them._

_“…Sorry?” You didn’t know what else to say, even though you didn’t need to say anything. No one would hear._

_A heavy sigh left you as a frown pulled at your lips and you leaned against the front door, knowing you messed up somehow._

_Well…if you were lucky, someone else would come around. But you weren’t counting on it._

_And you didn’t have to._

_A week later, Frisk emailed you, asking if the offer still stood._

 


	3. Familiarity

Everything hurt.

At least, you thought it would, as soon as you woke up and took in your surroundings. But instead, everything was soft, and warm, like a loving embrace. Plush pillows supported your head, and downy blankets covered you from your toes to your chin, and you noticed with no small amount of amusement that they were tucked tightly, securely, around your body.

It felt…right. For a few comfortable moments, you didn’t want to get up—you wanted to bask in the soft warmth of a nice bed for hours.

But you couldn’t. Because—just how did you end up there? Last you checked, some freaky flower attacked you in a cave and then fled, leaving you to pass out from overexertion.

God knew where this even was. A bed—an entire bedroom—beneath the mountain?

Well, bedrooms were usually part of a house. Usually. You weren’t sure what to expect down here in this so-called “Underground.”

You carefully hauled yourself to the edge of the bed, not willing to force your body and not trusting the false sense of security. But, really, you _did_ feel back at one-hundred percent. Not an ache here, not a pain there—all better. You flexed your arms and legs just to double-check that.

Truth be told, you felt better than you had in _years._

You cast a brief glance around the dimly-lit room, noting some furniture and childish décor set against the wall. None of it looked worn or used…

As you padded your way to the door, picking your jacket off of the hook attached to its surface and pulling it on, zipping it up tight like a security blanket (and checking that the empty tin was still in your pocket), the faint scent of crisp, baking pastry met your nose. Once you opened the door a crack, you could smell a hint of cinnamon in the air.

You stuck your head out the door, almost flinching at the sudden light (the brightest you’d seen in a while), looking left to see a row of doors and dead end, then right to see the hallway stretch further on towards the interior of the house. It was empty. You stepped fully out into the hall and looked towards the right path before following after the scent.

The sugar-sweet smell grew stronger the further you walked—and as you neared the end of the hallway, you began to hear the clinking of dishware and utensils ahead. That alone halted you in your tracks. Someone was _there._ Presumably the person—thing—that brought you here, but…you didn’t know what to expect. Didn’t know how to react. Your hand automatically went to clench the heart hidden behind your jacket.

You passed by a staircase and a nearly-arranged entry hall before passing into a clean, homey living room complete with a dancing, hypnotizing bunch of flames gathered in the fireplace between the bookshelves. The only chair present in the room was large—too large for a human. So, too, was the dinner table set to the side.

One of the floorboards creaked beneath your foot as you crossed the room. At the same moment, the sounds in the kitchen ceased and padding footsteps approached.

“Oh! My child, you are awake! How do you feel?”

As if freakish daisies weren’t bad enough, standing there before you in the kitchen entryway was a tall, feminine creature covered in white fur, small, curving horns atop her head. A regal purple smock adorned her body, stamped with an insignia you vaguely recognized. Her face was kind, complete with long lashes and a kind smile. No matter how you looked at it, she was some kind of bipedal goat. 

But you were used to the strange things this day brought. You managed to keep yourself from reeling back in shock and settled simply for swallowing the dry lump in your throat—suddenly remembering how damn thirsty you were, thanks to the rough cough that followed.

Concern overtook the goat-woman’s face as she shuffled forward—and stopped when she saw your body tense up. With one last, worried glance your way, she retreated into the kitchen. And quickly returned with a steaming coffee mug that she held out to you, careful not to step too close and frighten you away. “Please, drink this. There is no telling how long you were out there. All alone…” Her ears drooped as her eyes trailed away, looking off somewhere, lost in a memory, a little melancholy.

You didn’t need to be told twice. At the expense of your safety, you reached out and took the mug in both hands, almost startled by the warmth of it, before taking a gulp, too thirsty to care about the mildly-hot liquid stinging your throat, unable to even taste it in your haste. It wasn’t until you drained half of the drink and took a breath that you registered the aftertaste of warm cider. “Thank you,” you choked out before downing the rest of the mug.

“You are very welcome, my child.” At that, a small smile rose to her face, eyes returning to you. “My name is Toriel. Who might you be?”

You held the empty mug awkwardly between your hands as you studied the goat-woman. She was taller than the tallest man you’d ever seen, and with hands…paws? so large, you would do well to keep up your guard. But…she was gentle. Motherly. That much you could tell, just from looking into her eyes.

If she’d wanted to hurt you, she wouldn’t have brought you into her home, tucked you into bed, given you a drink…

No.

This kindness was real. It wasn’t like the forced, fake kindness that Flowey portrayed.

“Y/N.” You cleared your throat upon noticing your voice was a bit hoarse. “You’re the one who brought me here? Toriel?” Slowly, you set the mug down on the knotty-pine tabletop careful, because it was taller than you expected, and crossed your arms.

She nodded. “I am. You are welcome to stay here as long as you like, Y/N. In fact, I advise it. Oh—” her head turned towards the kitchen as the trill of a timer sounded, and she took a quick step in that direction before turning back to you. “Excuse me, I have to get back to my pie. Butterscotch-cinnamon—I’m sorry, I didn’t get to ask which flavor you preferred, but I hope you don’t mind?”

“I—I don’t. Thank you?”

_‘Butterscotch-cinnamon Pie? She’s…making a pie?’_

“Please, make yourself at home. It won’t be long until the pie is ready,” Toriel called from the kitchen, a smile in her warm voice. 

“Alright. I will.”

The domesticity of the scene almost had you smiling—until a sudden jerk of familiarity raced through you. It was a strange, niggling feeling in the back of your mind that, perhaps, you’d been here before. But that wasn’t possible. Not even slightly.

You shook your head to clear your mind and strode out of the living room, returning to the entry hall. The staircase caught your eye, but you overlooked it in favor of approaching the front door.

Outside, familiar bricks and eroded pillars greeted you. Red, crinkled fallen leaves—from what trees, you couldn’t tell, because there was only a single black, barren one in the courtyard a short distance off—covered the ground. It was beautiful, in its own way. And still, that unseen light source illuminated it all. You glanced up to see if sunlight filtered in from above, but only a brick ceiling met your curious gaze.

You wandered as far as the end of the courtyard, where a pathway branched off east and west. Wandering too far off wasn’t on your list of priorities—not right now. Not when thoughts of that creepy flower told you it was probably better to get back to Toriel’s home before another nasty surprise caught you.

It was warmer in the house, you noticed. Maybe because of the fireplace, or the baking. You found yourself standing in front of the staircase once again, wondering what kind of rooms were below. But you found yourself reluctant to wander too far away from Toriel. She was the only one who had shown you kindness—you’d only met two…creatures…so far, so maybe it wasn’t saying much, but she was the only one who’d shown any sliver of concern for your wellbeing.

…And you were curious about that pie.

You ended up back in the living room in front of the smoldering fire, left alone with your thoughts.

Everything that happened today was…odd.

It didn’t really add up.

You fell—you remembered that. Or, rather, you knew it had to be so, because how else would you find yourself down here? And you survived it. 

Some nasty, foul-mouthed, sentient flower tried to kill you.

A maternal goat monster took you under her wing.

Yet none of that seemed jarring, or even remotely out of place.

Not to mention the strange, red heart that attached itself to you. You looked past your jacket’s neckline to see the small thing, unmoving, almost like a pendant. But it still wouldn’t budge, and remained stuck.

Maybe you were just too numb to care. Still grieving. Heaven knew you didn’t deal well with trauma or shock—eventually it would all settle in, but not now.

Well. No matter. You knew what you had to do—and that was getting out of this place.

“Y/N? The pie is ready.” Toriel’s voice suddenly sounded, a hint of excitement in her tone, as her head poked around the corner and her eyes roved the room for your face. “There you are! Would you like the first slice now?”

“I would.”

“Wonderful! I will also get you more cider.” She padded to the dinner table to retrieve your empty mug before smiling and hurrying back to the kitchen. A few moments later, she returned with a wooden tray laden with a single slice of pie and a refill.

Wordlessly, you took a seat at the dinner table—having to sit up as straight as your spine allowed, as the tabletop was a few inches higher than you were used to—and stared down the….wow, really large piece of pie. It didn’t look that big on the tray—but up close? Just how big was the _pie_ it came from?

Toriel was kind enough to provide you with a fork (which was, surprisingly, a manageable size and not salad-fork sized), and eyed you eagerly, paws clasped, as you scooped up a bite.

It melted on your tongue. It was _godly_. As in, whatever pie gods existed out there bequeathed their holy pie-baking skills to this woman and this woman alone. Butterscotch was never your favorite but, hell, if she made it taste this damn good then you had a new favorite! And the undertones of cinnamon swirled in the cream— _perfect._ You could have cried.

And…it tasted like home.

As you chewed, forked another bite into your mouth, you gradually came to realize that this wasn’t a new experience. It…it was a flavor you knew.

“Oh—oh my, are you alright, Y/N? Is it—is the pie _that_ bad? Please—do not force yourself to eat it for my sake…!”

You gulped down the flakey, buttery crust and cream in your mouth and felt the tears streaming down your face. “No. It’s not that. It’s—it’s delicious, Toriel! Amazing! Really!” You sniffled, covering your nose with your sleeve. “I’m just…it reminded me of something really nice.”

“Oh.” She didn’t seem entirely convinced, until you shoveled the rest of the pie into your mouth and chewed with determination before chasing it down with almost a full mug of cider.

“Thank you,” you began, wiping crumbs from your mouth with your fingers and offering a smile.

Toriel moved to gather the dishes, but you stopped her.

“Please let me help. It’s the least I can do.” Before she could protest, you picked up the tray and made your way to the kitchen.

It was a normal, cozy space—with everything you’d expect to see in a kitchen above ground, like hanging pots and pans, polka-dot oven mitts and spice racks. Again, you struggled with the height of the counter—but somehow managed to set the crumb-covered plate and mug into the sink without dropping and breaking them.

The pie—the very _large_ pie—sat on the counter beside you, missing a slice. It was warm and the pan that contained it was still hot, yet you couldn’t feel the telltale sign of oven heat within the room. A quick, curious touch to the oven door revealed it was completely cooled.

_Fire magic._

“I use fire magic to bake,” Toriel said as she watched you, picking up on your questioning actions. “Not all of the time, but I find oven cooking to be a bit…limiting. I am afraid it simply is not the same.”

“Fire magic. Right.” Any other time, you would have frowned and questioned it, but somehow…it seemed right. Monsters. Magic. The two went hand-in-hand.

She did her best to persuade you out of doing the dishes, even through your struggle to reach the tap, until you found a footstool to drag over. Seeing your determination, she ceded and settled for drying the dishes beside you, sharing small talk. Mostly about snails. A little about baking. You learned it was her dream to become a teacher.

You couldn’t contribute much about yourself, but listening to her talk was enough.

Chores done, you decided to bring up what you’d been meaning to ask the entire time. You waited until Toriel hung up the dishtowel and finished her sentence before cutting in as gently as you could.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality and kindness. I hate to ask for more after all you’ve done, but—do you know how I can get out of here?”

Her kind smile faltered as her gaze wandered away. She idly smoothed out the towel, drawing out a response. She shook her head slightly. “There is no way out. I am sorry, Y/N.”

You froze. “There has to be.”

Toriel’s smile fell completely. She wrung her hands before brushing down her tunic and turning away. “You do not know better, so I will tell you now: do not try to leave, Y/N. You are safe here.”

“But—”

“Someone like you, out there…it will not work. Please, do not fight me on this.”

_You have to go._

“I have to go.” You didn’t know where the words came from, or if you were really the one saying them. They shocked you as much as they shocked Toriel.

So much so that she left the room abruptly, with purpose, without a backwards glance.

* * *

**CONTINUE <**

**RESET**


	4. Memories II

_Frisk was the best roommate you could have asked for. A real one-in-a-million._

_They weren’t invasive, gossipy, or loud and obnoxious. They kept their space clean. They helped with the chores even though you assured them they didn’t have to (and you had to admit, with them around to contribute, your house was looking a lot better than it did before)._

_And they were an awesome cook—something you were probably the most thankful for, since the great majority of your nutrition consisted of frozen, boxed meals and the occasional delivery of pizza and Chinese food._

_Still…they were a mystery._

_Retired Monster Ambassador: renowned for instilling monster rights and acceptance throughout the nation—and maybe even the world—between human governments and monsters since their journey to the surface. Retired already, at such a young age. This was all news you’d gathered from a quick internet search, realizing it was something you probably should have done before inviting them to your home for an interview—something you probably would have realized right away if you kept up with such matters, even, considering they didn’t change their name to hide anything. But you’d been too excited at the prospect of gaining roommate to care about their background just then._

_Of course, you were well aware Frisk’s efforts didn’t necessarily mean there weren’t lingering groups who despised monsters. Hate crimes were still rampant, and some cities banned the presence of monsters completely, going so far as to wall themselves in for security. Such was the city you’d left behind. Living on your own,_ not _being sandwiched in between so-called “life-preservation borders,” in the great outdoors was much more to your liking._

_Still…why they’d decided to leave all of that behind after doing so much good was a mystery to you. And it wasn’t your place to pry, because you had your share of secrets, too._

_It must have been something painful, though. At times, when they thought you weren’t looking, when they were browsing through their phone or lost in thought drying the dishes, a certain acute sense of forlornness settled across their features. It was in their actions, too. Like something within them had broken. Like they’d moved so far past that breaking point they didn’t know how to come back._

_It was something you knew, too. That’s why it was so easy to recognize._

_But it never lasted long. Before you knew it, before you could comment on it against your better judgment, their kindness and high spirits always returned._

_The sound of footsteps crinkling through dry grass caught your attention and you paused mid-rake, glaring down at the small pile of leaves that always seemed to fall and scatter across your yard no matter the season, before looking up to see Frisk approaching._

**_Do you need help, Y/N?_ ** _Their hands moved to form the question, clear and deliberate for your sake. Two months passed since you had taken it upon yourself to learn ASL and you liked to think you were doing well, but at times it was hard to keep up with their talking speed and translating it all properly. But you were a fast learner, determined to reach a point where there would be no language barrier between you two._

_For a moment, you thought to decline. Sometimes, it was just nice to immerse yourself in work and be by yourself. Especially on a day like this—which happened to be your birthday. You couldn’t remember the last time you hadn’t been alone on your birthday and you didn’t much care to break the mold._

_But a quick glance across your yard, scattered with more leaves and with more falling from the trees, dancing in the breeze, made you think otherwise. **Please,** you signed back, handing the rake over before bending down to shove the leaves you’d gathered into a trash bag. One of your neighbors from a nearby property—far enough down the lake that you could barely see the home—would drop by to pick them up for compost later in exchange for a few groceries. But…nowadays, you didn’t really need them, with Frisk handling most of the shopping. _

_Sometimes change wasn’t all that bad._

_With the two of you working, the yard was cleared in no time. Bags were carried to the edge of the property and set neatly near the mailbox—a damn lot of bags._

_“Thanks a bunch,” you grinned at Frisk as they took a seat on the front porch steps and wearily wiping an arm across their forehead. You stayed standing, leaning your arms against the porch railing instead, admiring the fact that you could actually see the grassy lawn now. “You don’t usually help with yardwork, though. What’s with the change of heart?”_

**_I was waiting for the pie to cool off. Needed something to do._ **

_“Pie? You made a pie?” you perked up, having been curious about their baking skills since they’d mentioned it in the interview. They hadn’t made a single dessert since arriving._

  ** _I did. It should be ready now._** _With a smile, Frisk pointed towards the window sill—where a type of pie you’d never seen before sat, covered with a layer of cream sprinkled with—cinnamon? You thought, as you turned to look at it and caught a whiff of the pastry. You approached it with wide eyes and a watering mouth, wondering what kind it was._

_“Wow, what’s the occasion?”_

_Their smile faltered slightly. **It’s your birthday, isn’t it?**_

_You glanced towards them, forgetting the pie. Your lips pressed together in a thin line as you gave a slight nod. “…Yeah. How’d you know?”_

_Frisk’s calmness became worry, eyebrows furrowed as they tapped their fingertips together before signing a response. **Your grandparents left a message on the answering machine and I heard it—I didn’t listen to it all. Just that part, before I skipped it. You didn’t seem to have any plans, and you didn’t mention it, so I thought I’d make you something to celebrate. For being so nice, and letting me live here, and—**_

_Their messages became gradually quicker and harder for you to follow. It was the first time you’d seen them so flustered, looking as if they’d done something wrong, and you were too surprised to say anything until they rose to their feet and signed something you recognized instantly._

_“Wait,” you reached out and thought to grab their arm as they headed into the house, but thought better of it and set your hand on their shoulder instead. “Don’t be sorry. I’m just…thanks. Really, thanks. I don’t celebrate it, but—it’s nice. To have someone besides my grandparents think about me.” You offered the kindest smile you could muster, thinking maybe it would be forced, but surprising even yourself as the warmth behind the gesture grew into something authentic. Grateful. Something burned behind your eyes, but you blinked it away._

_The panic and fear on Frisk’s face slowly eased away at the sight of your smile, and soon, they couldn’t help but smile back as you carefully picked up the pie and hurried inside, looking and feeling happier than you had in a long time._

_It was the best—and only—butterscotch-cinnamon pie you’d ever eaten._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based the pie on Feast of Fiction’s rendition of it because it just looks waaaay too good.


	5. Do-over

Your eyes trailed after Toriel, watching the corner she’d disappeared around long after she’d already left. She’d gone down those stairs, you knew. Where they led, you weren’t sure. A quick browse through of the home revealed your temporary bedroom, the woman’s own room, a bathroom, and a locked room with a sign that read ‘UNDER RENOVATIONS,’ and she was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe it was a basement.

Maybe it was something else.

Your hands clenched into fists, one holding the fork you’d eaten your pie with, as you stood at the top step, looking down but unable to see what awaited you.

Maybe it was the way out.

You closed your eyes, steeled yourself, and descended those stairs.

They led you to a corridor that resembled those you’d traveled through in the ruins—only well-kept and, as expected, occupied by none other than Toriel.

Her back was to you, and she stood still, shoulders tense—deliberating something. As you approached, she refused to turn, though you saw her hands clench into fists at her sides. Then, she sighed quietly, as if resigned that you’d followed after her.

“Toriel…? What is this place?”

“This is your way out, Y/N. The end of the ruins.” The warmth from before was dormant. In its place was cold resolution.

“But you said—”

“I know what I said and I am sorry.” She was too kind to lie. That much you could tell from even such a short acquaintance. “I have to destroy it. I cannot let you leave. Please, go back upstairs. Help yourself to some more pie.”

As you fumbled for a response, she continued walking, at a brisk, yet hesitant pace. You were quick to trail after, and it wasn’t long before she stopped again.

“You are not the first human to fall here. There were others. It is always the same. They come. They leave. They die. If you leave, you will die. Asgore will kill you.”

_‘Asgore…?’_

“Please understand. Let me protect you.” Pain began to crack through her voice, but despite that, again, she walked forward.

How many times had she seen it happen? Did she care for the others just as much? You took a step after her but hesitated. She had your best interests in mind. Perhaps, in another world, another time, another place, you would have been happy enough with that.

But you weren’t.

You had to leave—and she had no right to stop you.

You clenched the ash tin in your pocket before running after her to cover the distance that quickly grew between monster and human.

“Stop. Go back. Now. I will not tell you again.” Her strict warnings fell on deaf ears. You continued following close behind until she rounded a corner, and the moment you hurtled after, the end of the corridor greeted you.

Toriel stood before the looming door with an unreadable expression, paws clenched into tight fists at her sides. She stood tall, formidable, no longer the motherly monster you’d come to know, but a regal beast who commanded respect and stood for no defiance.  For a moment, you were frozen in place, awed by the sight—by her bearing. And the cold, guarded eyes.

This wasn’t the Toriel you wanted to see. It wasn’t the Toriel you knew.

Doubt crept into your thoughts, and Flowey’s words whispered in the back of your mind.

Could this all be a lie? A trick? You didn’t want to believe it, yet her decision to keep you here and destroy your only exit was twisted no matter how you looked at it. Even if her words weren’t lies and it would keep you safe.

Even if you wanted to leave, there was no way around her.

“You will not change your mind?” She asked, yet left no room for response. “Stubborn child—no,” she paused and shook her head wearily, a momentary crack in her behavior. “You are no child. I was well aware, yet I refused to accept it. Perhaps treating you as one is what led us to this. So, if it must be this way, then show me what separates you from them. Prove you are strong enough to survive.”

As she finished speaking, as magic sparks leapt around her hands and grew into roaring flames, the heart on your chest began beating beneath your jacket. You covered it with your hand on reflex and tried to take a step back as the fire gained life of its own and snaked towards you in thick ropes. You wanted to believe she wouldn’t harm you. You wanted to believe she _was_ someone you could trust; someone who wanted to protect you.

But it didn’t matter what you wanted to believe. There was nowhere else for the flames to go but directly against you so you _moved_ , you tried to dodge them and they burned through your jacket and it burned it burned _IT BURNED IT HURT—_

Not just the powerful, boiling hot sensation of melted nylon and cotton sticking to the skin of your arms, but the betrayal.

You weren’t safe here.

You weren’t safe here and the sobs stuck in your throat and the pain the pain _the pain_ burned that realization into your mind as you writhed on the grimy stone floor beneath you, gnashing your teeth and shaking as sweat beaded on your brow and heat dominated the small room.

Fireballs collided with the ground around you, exploding in small bursts with embers that came nowhere close to you, yet the attack was unrelenting and the heat steadily grew unbearable.

She wanted you to suffer—was that it? Was she tormenting you, showing her true colors? Slowly, slowly, burning you alive until your skin would burst and you would turn to ash.

You just wanted _out._ You wanted to go back home. Was that really so much to ask?

Your anger took hold, fingers curled tightly around the fork in your hand as blood rushed in your ears and the pain numbed you to feeling, to your mild passivity, and wicked thoughts flooded your head.

Killing her would be the easiest way through. She wanted you to fight back, _to prove yourself,_ and so you would.

It was your only weapon. Measly silverware was all you had—so you grit your teeth and pushed yourself off the ground and _threw it_.

If you stopped to look—if you’d just stopped to _look_ , you would have seen the pain in her eyes. You would have noticed she didn’t intend to harm you, that her attacks arced around you and left plenty of room to dodge if you just weren’t so _stupid_ and so _spiteful_ in accepting the worst _,_ but—

It was already done.

You grinned, feeling a surge of pride, but Toriel’s eyes only held alarm and—fear?

“Oh…dear…”

It was only a fork— _it was only a fork._ Embedded just there, in her arm, prongs stuck in so deep they were near invisible. Hardly something that would cause mortal damage, so why did she look so scared?

Her attacks ceased now, leaving only steam and scorch marks behind on the cracked stone, and you took this as your victory cue. You did it. _You did it._

But as you stepped forward—prepared to claim your prize by leaving through that door—the grin dropped from your face.

Small cracks began webbing across Toriel’s body from where the fork impaled her, and she took a ragged breath as she sank to her knees.

_No…_

“To want to hurt me that…badly…just…to leave? I was…wrong. You are strong. Strong…enough…” She forced a smile through the agony and pressed a hand to her chest. Her white fur grew dingy, gray, lifeless, as she jerkily turned her head to the door, resigned, but with regrets in her eyes. “Just…be careful….out there…”

A shaky, tearful smile was the last sight you were greeted with before she—vanished. Her body disintegrated into fine dust particles that rose into the air and left behind a white, heart-shaped thing similar to the red one haunting you.

And

it

shattered.

_NO!_

_“Toriel!?”_ You were too late—when you rushed toward her, when your knees cracked hard against the stone, when you threw out your hand, not even a single speck of dust remained. Nothing of _her_ remained, as if she never existed. As if she’d never been there to care for you, to make pie for you, to treat you like you were _wanted_ and to _try_ helping you _._ You were alone. Again.

_Again_.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorryI’msorryI’msorry I’m so fucking sorry!” A thousand apologies couldn’t make up for this. Couldn’t fix this.

And there was a pain in your heart you didn’t _deserve_ because _you_ did this and you had no right to feel _sorry_ —you shouldn’t have _done it._

_Do it again._

_Do it_ again _. Do it_ right!

Through the tears, through the horrifying realization of what you’d done pounding in your skull, a voice cut through like a knife, like _hope_ , and as you opened your eyes and looked up, trying to see who else was there and witnessed your crime, you saw a golden halo glowing around your red heart and it slowly expanded like a sea, enveloping the room.

That light—you understood it. Through it, you could feel salvation. A second chance. A do-over.

You took it.

* * *

Everything was dark; gritty, static—like the screen of a television flickering to life, only to reveal white noise.

Blurred.

Distorted.

Your body did not feel like your own.

Your body seamlessly blended in with the static and when you moved, jerky, unsteady, it felt like sand sinking through your fingers.

Then, like coming out of the fog, shapes began to form and gain clarity, until everything snapped into focus, everything was whole again, and familiar words filled the air.

* * *

 “Prove you are strong enough to survive.”

Toriel stood before you, again, _alive._

And, just as before, the flames from her hands slithered towards you in two writhing trails, cross-crossing but not-quite touching, swirling. You stepped back, putting the weight on your heel, but didn’t move this time. You noticed you were uninjured, clothing in one piece, skin no longer seared. The red heart glowed beneath your jacket, almost humming. You knew what you had to do.

You smiled.

This wasn’t a fight—you knew that, now. It was a simple test. There was no need for pain, suffering, or death. Because you were right.

You were right to hold that confidence that Toriel wouldn’t harm you and you owed it to her to prove that.

Fireballs sailed towards you, searing the air, sizzling at the ends of your hair, but never harming you directly. You only had to lean left, right, stepped back at your leisure and took no damage whatsoever.

“Are you not taking this battle seriously?” Toriel’s eyes narrowed as magic danced in her palm and wrapped her hand in flame.

“I’m sorry.” You weren’t apologizing for _this._

“If you truly wished to apologize, you would leave _. Fight back_.” She threw the fireball and it landed dangerously close to your shoe but all you did was clench your hands into fists and stand tall.

“I won’t fight you, Toriel. But I have to leave.”

“Insolent.”

This time, she made it clear that she was serious and a fireball caught the edge of your sleeve, burning through it, but not quite touching skin because you flinched away on reflex. You should have let it hit you. You deserved the pain, for what you’d done.

She grit her teeth and hurled a volley of fireballs your way and you steeled yourself as they crashed around you in waves of sweltering heat.

“I won’t change my mind, Toriel.”

“Then you will never leave.”

Embers sizzled against your ankles, stinging skin, flames whizzed past your hair, singing the ends, fire burnt your sleeves, searing edges, and you closed your eyes, bearing it all. She would get tired. She would wear herself out. She’d been down here in these ruins for who knew how long, losing her touch in battle, and if you just held on, if you just stayed determined, things would end in your favor, you were sure. And no one would have to die.

Not this time.

When you looked up again between magical attacks, as she prepared another, you could see the struggle in her eyes. The emotions battling their way across her face. She hesitated. She didn’t _want_ to keep this up. The fireballs became flurries of heat fanning out on either side of you, feet away from harming you.

“ _Why?_ ” She asked, expression twisted in pain. In confusion. “Y/N…if you cannot even handle fighting me, how do you expect to make your way in this world?”

“ _Because_ of you.”

Her eyes grew wide. She dropped her hands to her sides and simply regarded you in shock, unable to comprehend your words.

You finally released the breath you’d been holding throughout the battle and wiped a hand across your sweating cheek, feeling the beginnings of a minor burn and damp tear trails. “Because you proved there are monsters like you. Kind monsters. Caring monsters. Monsters who don’t _want_ to hurt a human like me. Because if you really wanted to—you would have. You wouldn’t have held back so much.” You grasped the red heart on your chest and grinned softly.

Toriel watched you as you spoke, continued studying you with a measured glance long after you fell silent, evaluating your response, until her shoulders slumped and she heaved a sigh. “I see.” A sad little smile crossed her face. “You are correct. I could never fight you with malicious intent. I did not think you would catch onto that.” Slowly, she stepped away from the door, casting it a backward glance. “Forgive me. I underestimated you, Y/N. But bear in mind there are those who are not as soft-hearted as this old woman. There are those who will hurt you. Remember that—promise me you will—and you may leave.” She closed her eyes and shook her head a bit before stepping away from the door completely, freeing the way.

“I promise.” She didn’t look at you as you stepped forward, and as you saw her sad, submissive form, head bowed, hands folded in front of her, left without purpose because you took away her will to guard the doors, you realized how lonely it must be down in the ruins. No one else was in the home—it was only Toriel. And a few strange little monsters. Leaving her along ate away at your heart and guilt tangled your thoughts—you rested a hand against the cool stone of the doors and stopped. “Toriel—why don’t you come with me?”

Her head snapped to you—and she let out a surprised laugh before covering her mouth. “Oh—Forgive me, Y/N. It was rude to laugh. I only…I never…” she allowed a small smile, briefly meeting your eyes—and in that second, a mutual respect passed between you. She no longer viewed you as a child, or a simple human. She acknowledged you as reliable adult. “I will not leave. These ruins are my home. Please, do not worry about me.”

“Then, I’ll come back.”

“No…I am afraid this is goodbye. Once you leave, these doors will not open again.” She began to walk away, her back to you. “…Thank you for worrying, Y/N. You are kind.”

Before you could reply, beg her to follow you out, she retreated at a brisk pace.

You looked back to the doors looming before you, feeling a despondent emptiness settle around you in the silence.

_‘Kind? Me? That’s a joke. If only you knew…’_

You clutched the ash tin in your pocket and left the ruins.

* * *

**CONTINUE <**

**RESET**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are different


	6. Memories III

_“Hey, Frisk, can I ask you a reeaaallllyyyy big favor?”_

_You were begging. Hands folded in front of you, eyes closed, grinning as wide as your lips would allow, shifting from foot to foot, antsy. You probably looked like you needed to go to the bathroom really bad, pretty foolish, but you weren’t above embarrassing yourself a little when you needed something._

_Frisk looked up from their book and lowered their reading glasses, briefly eyeing your silly antics before sighing and nodding for you to go on. It wasn’t often that you asked for anything, so they were willing to hear you out._

_You took a seat on the couch and twiddled your thumbs a bit before speaking. “Uh, well, y’see, my grandparents asked me to go visit them, and…I sort of need a ride. Taxis and buses don’t come out this far. And…I don’t have a car. But you do!” You chanced a glance at their face and caught their eye as they blinked calmly. “So, do you think, maybe, you could drive me over there? I’ll pay for gas! And I’ll make dinner for the next week, even though I’m not very good at it—”_

_A quiet laugh caused you to stop short. The nervous tension in your body eased away as you let your shoulders fall and waited for a response._

**_Of course I’ll drive you, Y/N_ ** _, Frisk replied, amused. **When do you need to be there?**_

_You smiled uneasily, scratching at your chin. “Thanks, but, um, let me tell you where it is, first. You might…change your mind.”_

_They watched you, confused, tilting their head slightly, waiting for you to continue._

_“My grandparents live in one of those walled cities. I…I love them, but I can’t_ stand _those walls, so I only go when they absolutely insist. They do so much for me, so I’d feel bad not going to see them. Do you…do you still want to take me there?” You noticed the way Frisk’s knuckles whitened against the spine of their book. You hadn’t alluded to their identity since the day they arrived, and you understood it was a taboo topic. Out of respect, you hadn’t even gone digging through search engines for more information. But it was prudent to mention something like this that toed the line of anti-monster._

_“They aren’t against monsters. It’s just that they’ve lived in the same house for their entire married lives and leaving because of the walls would just be too…hard…for people as old as they are. But I get it if you don’t want to. Those cities are in general pretty horrible. Full of snotty, self-important, self-righteous types. On second thought, I probably shouldn’t have asked.”_

_Their fingers tapped against the cover of their book as they considered the request._

**_I said I would, so I will._ ** _They were clear and decisive on that point. But there was more to say. **But…I won’t enter the city.** Their expression was set, lips pressed together, eyebrows creased slightly in the middle. It wasn’t a kind look, but it wasn’t displeased. _

_“That’s fair. That’ll work, that’ll work. Thanks.” You grinned. For a second there, you were worried you’d have to hike your way to the city. It had been done before. But…it was a difficult trip. Deep inside, where your conscience rippled along the glassy lake of your morals, you felt you were taking advantage of your friend, just a bit. But…that’s what friends do, right? Give and take. You were comfortable enough to consider Frisk a friend, so asking for things every now and then was fine. Right?_

_Right._

* * *

_Frisk was silent for most of the drive. You figured it was because signing was difficult while keeping both hands on the steering wheel, and they were a model driving student, for sure, keeping their grip at ten-and-two, eyes always on the road, careful and cautious._

_Over time, you’d come to recognize certain tells in their body language that both emphasized and substituted simple responses and little nuances like the tilt of a head, the twist of the mouth, a one-shouldered shrug were sufficient responses that spurred on your one-sided conversation. Because you couldn’t handle keeping your mouth shut today and just sitting in silence. It was nerves, mostly. Having to go to one of those walled cities, having to visit your grandparents with a heavy, guilty conscience, having to get Frisk to drive you out on a four-hour round trip plus however long the visit lasted._

_A small part of you suspected they weren’t entirely happy with this. Maybe it was just fear, just doubt, but you didn’t blame them. If it were you being asked, you probably would have refused._

_You took a few moments to think about another topic, ramble on about something else like how the leaves were all changing color and soon snow would pass through the mountains, and watched the rocky, rising teeth as they bit into the blue sky—but also watching Frisk’s ghostly reflection in your window._

_Frisk was…too nice._

_You could be annoying. Needy. A little ditzy. Swore a lot when a naggy client gave you a hard time or when you smacked your funny bone too hard. They’d tried to teach you how to cook a decent meal, and you burnt it more often than not. Even_ soup _. Who in their right minds could burn_ soup? _Yet they took all this in stride, without much of a complaint at all. They only chided you when you left your illustration drafts scattered across the dining room table after a particularly rough all-nighter, or when you forgot to lock the windows at night. There was the time you forgot to bring in the line-drying laundry and a downpour soaked it all over again._

_But they were mild. Tepid. No matter what mishaps occurred, they never got fired up and there was never a heated altercation between you. At the end of the day, you two still got along quite well._

_You’d never had a heart-to-heart conversation, though. Sometimes you wished you two knew a little more about each other. Like all the times you’d seen Frisk gloomy, barely there, and pretended not to see their pain because they wouldn’t bring it up._

_It was selfish and nosy, sure, but it was in your nature to wonder, even if you never prodded for answers._

_Maybe…it wouldn’t hurt to, sometimes._

_A hand lightly touching your arm jerked you from your thoughts. You turned your head and caught Frisk’s gaze, realizing the car was stopped at a flashing railroad crossing._

**_Are you alright, Y/N?_ **

_“Me? I’m fine. Just fine.”_

_If you listened, you could hear the shrill whistle in the distance. You would be parked here for a while._

_“Hey, can I ask you something, Frisk?”_

_They nodded._

_You twisted your fingers together on your lap, shifting against the seatbelt digging into your collarbone, opening and closing your mouth and not quite knowing where to begin. Your cardigan felt itchy against your skin all of a sudden and there was a clammy heat along your back._

_“Uh…Well…what, um, what’s your family like?” Your tongue felt heavy as you spoke, and you nearly stumbled over your words in your haste to get them out._

_Frisk’s lips parted slightly as they drew back almost imperceptibly and returned both hands to the steering wheel, looking straight ahead as the freight train rattled by._

_You regretted speaking the second you did. Oh, you were nosy. Just too nosy. A real fucking jerk. But—part of you felt like you_ could _ask. There was nothing wrong with asking about others. You mentioned your grandparents—the only family members you cared for—every now and then, so wasn’t it only natural to be curious about Frisk’s family?_

_You kind of wanted to bang your head against the window, too._

_Frisk was quiet for a long time. The end of the train was approaching and soon you would continue driving on. At this point, you figured they’d ignore your question completely._

_Then, slowly, they pulled their hands away from the steering wheel and replied._

**_They’re…great. Kind, caring, selfless... They’re all different, but they have that in common. Some are lazy, some are pretty bad at cooking, some have temper problems, some have trouble realizing how great they are. Some are way too vain. Some caused a lot of trouble…we’ve been through a lot together._ **

**_They’re more than I could ever ask for. More than I deserve._ **

_You were so intent on translating the signs that you missed looking up at Frisk’s face—and reeled back in surprise when you saw tears welling up in their eyes. They dripped down their cheeks in steady trails, leaving dark spots on the front of their striped sweater._

_You gripped your seatbelt, mentally floundering for the proper way to handle this, how to comfort a crying human being, but nothing came to mind. So you didn’t do anything at all, aside from averting your gaze. Even when they sniffled, even when they pressed their hands against their eyes and tried to stop the tears._

_“…I’m sorry,” you muttered, watching as the crossing lights flashed and bells trilled, wondering if you should have taken that as a cue to stop being so damn curious._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm close to posting all of what's written up so far so updates might not be as frequent past this, but the words are still chugging along. (Also changed the category to gen because it seems more suitable than other at this point.)
> 
> Thoughts? Comments on formatting choices? Like, how is it reading some chapters in full italics? Sometimes I look at it and I'm not so sure.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Cold

Beyond the doors was another corridor lined in stone. Cold—colder than the ruins surrounding Toriel’s home. But perhaps it was only because the previous chamber had been heated through her magic and you were ultra-sensitive to the temperature change. You picked up the pace, running at a light jog to cover more distance and warm your body. This path was straightforward—not confusing and twisting, turning, like the dark ruins. A soft, purple light filtered in from above, probably due to magic. You’d come to accept that magic was an integral part of the underground. That tended to happen when you had fireballs hurled at you and you traveled backwards in time.

The corridor seemed like it would never end—for a moment, you feared this was some type of punishment, for killing Toriel once and erasing your crime. The walls looked the same. Each pillar you passed was a carbon copy of the next.

You closed your eyes and pushed yourself full-tilt, sneakers stomping against the ground, kicking up dust as you ran. Just as your lungs felt as if a vice squeezed them together, threatened to burst them, you slowly brought yourself to a stop and grabbed at a nearby wall, wheezing. You opened your eyes—and thought that you perhaps didn’t, because the magical light was gone, faded. Creeping dread consumed you and you turned your head wildly, trying to see which way you’d come from, and where you were going.

Ahead, a faint halo of light drew you in.

With relief, you pushed away from the wall and hurried to the light.

But froze when a familiar, unpleasant yellow flower came into view, face warped into an insufferably smug, and slightly terrifying, smile.

Nothing with six petals and a smiley face should unsettle you as much as it did. But you almost wanted to turn on your heel and run in the opposite direction—if you had anywhere to return to. Toriel made it perfectly clear your only way to go was forward, now.

So you covered your red heart with your hand, guarding it, and took a cautious step towards Flowey as beady eyes watched your every move.

“What do you want?”

“I didn’t know if it would work—but you have it too, don’t you, Y/N?”

“Have _what?_ ”

“I tried to use it, but couldn’t. Which means you have more determination than me. Or is it _you?_ ”

Again, the plant seemed to be seeing through you, like you weren’t there, weren’t worth talking to, and you didn’t like it one bit.

Its face curled into a cruel grin, eyes crinkling. “You did something you didn’t like, so you started over to pretend it never happened. But _I_ know what you did. That power—it’s pretty great, right? Almost like you’re a god, rebuilding your choices.”

The feeling of warmth, that golden light, came to mind. You crossed your arms defensively.

Flowey’s smile fell. “You were too weak to kill that soft old hag and live with your crime. But, still, something is different this time. More than just _something_ , but you’ll just have to find that out for yourself!”

Your head was spinning. You had no idea what Flowey was saying, and for all you cared, it could be rambling to itself in a bout of madness. Chills crawled up your spine as the flower’s eyes focused on yours.

“Say, what will you do if someone comes after you with real intent to kill? What will you do when they _do_ kill you?” A dark grin morphed the harmless face. “Over, and over, and _over?_ ”

At this, you expected to see more bullets rear up and charge at you, and you prepared to turn tail and run, heart racing. But—you felt the tarnished handle of the fork in your pocket, remembering you weren’t completely defenseless. Your fingers curled around it and you watched, waited, planned—

“What will you do when you reach the barrier?” It bared its teeth in that awful grin, then cackled. “Oh, whoops! No one’s told you yet, have they? If you want to leave…

y o u ’ l l   h a v e   t o   k i l l.”

The words hammered the air, each like a gunshot ringing in the silence.

Flowey’s cackling continued when you choked out a gasp, shaking your head. No, you wouldn’t—because of Toriel. Her kindness. Unless—unless Flowey tried to attack. You would strike the flower down if you had to. But only that. Because there was cruelty in it, wickedness that infected you and took root in your thoughts because—hadn’t it been Flowey’s words that pushed you to kill Toriel? But—no. You couldn’t just make an exception like that.

“Just try looking so happy and victorious over sparing one measly monster with _that_ in mind.”

Damage done, Flowey sank into the ground, cruel, demonic smile ever-present.

You fought back the wave of nausea threatening to overtake you—your knees shook, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

The creature lied before.

There was no reason to trust its words. Not then, not now, not _ever_.

It was no one. Just a nuisance in your way, like the devil on your shoulder.

…And there was no angel there to counter it.

Biting your lip, you pushed yourself to keep walking, stomping on the patch of grass where Flowey once stood for good measure.

* * *

Snow crunched beneath your shoes, seeping through the soles and numbing your toes. But you didn’t mind that, not so much—not when it meant there was _air_ to breath. Crisp, chilled, _fresh_ air that wasn’t dusty or musty or filled with earth, and there was _light._

You brought up your hood and pulled your jacket closer around you, glad to be wearing that, at least, and long jeans that fended off the cold. The doors to the ruins closed behind you of their own accord, and you thought to pry them open once more. But, remembering Toriel’s words, you only gave them a final, longing glance before turning your eyes to the close-packed, barren trees and white road before you.

The area outside of the ruins was…desolate. Undisturbed. Pure and untouched in white.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen real snow.

Especially _this_ much snow, freezing the ground deep and clawing into your exposed skin.

You squinted into the distance to find a destination, but there was nothing. Only the white road that stretched on.

The longer you walked, the more the quiet solitude bothered you. Like something was off. It was too peaceful—too still, like the untouched contents of a snow globe begging to be shaken up. 

A twig cracked behind you—it could have been a gunshot, for as loud as it echoed in the emptiness, filling your ears, drawing your heart into your throat. You pulled your hood closer and walked faster, watching your labored breath clouding around you.

Nothing was there. _Nothing was there._ You would have seen it. It was just—ice cracking. An icicle weighed down by itself, taken by gravity.

You slowed your pace when a large wooden railing of some sort appeared in the distance. It reminded you of Japanese _torii_ gates, but with a second pair of support beams that made for an ugly landmark more than anything. A short, rickety bridge rested beneath it (half-supporting it, somehow) and as you approached it, you doubted about the safety of crossing something so unreliable.

There was no other way through. …You supposed you had no choice.

But, just as you prepared to take that first step, the sound of heavy, dragging footsteps crunching in the snow emerged behind you.

Every hair on your body stood on end as you contemplated sprinting across the bridge like your life depended on it—because it might have.

But…you couldn’t move.

Your feet were numb, your hands were half-numb, still stinging from the cold, and you didn’t know if you could run even if you wanted to. You gulped down your fear and shut your eyes, squaring your shoulders and bracing yourself for whoever brought along those calm, measured footsteps.

They stopped directly behind you.

“ _Don’t kill me._ ”

You were barely aware of the words as they slipped past your lips, cheeks numb as you pressed your lips together into a helpless smile and you felt small, so very small, all of a sudden. Foolish. Alone and weak and cold and a perfect target.

“kill you?”

You didn’t expect to hear a reply, much less another voice.

“hey, pal, don’t get ahead of yourself. i’m not here to hurt you.”

Slowly, you opened your eyes and let your body relax.

“you’re a human, right?”

You shifted your weight and turned around, careful not to make any sudden moves. But when you spied a _skull_ standing behind you, you staggered back and felt your body collide with one of the support beams. Sure, you could handle creepy talking flowers. Goat monsters. Magic. But _skeletons?_ Grinning ones, no less. _Those things belonged inside bodies and not wandering about outside, talking._

“hey, kid, _wood_ you calm down? you have bigger problems than me to worry about, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“ _I’m already crossing it._ And I’m not a kid. I-I’m Y/N.”

The skeleton’s eyes…eyes sockets…curved upwards slightly, pinpricks of light gleaming. You sucked in a wary breath and pressed your body along the support beam, wondering if you could just edge your way around it and slink away.

“Y/N. i’m sans. sans the skeleton.”

“Y-yeah, looks more like you’re sans the skin, to me.” He liked jokes and puns, did he—then you would play the game. Distract him long enough to—get away.

And that earned you a short, gravelly laugh. The skeleton—Sans—had a deep voice unbefitting of a skeleton, of all things, but, well, you couldn’t imagine any kind of skeleton talking so you didn’t suppose it was too out of place. He was short—shorter than you, even, but not by much—and wearing what looked like sporty lounge clothes. And slippers. _House slippers in snow?_ You stopped yourself there, realizing he needed skin and nerves to feel the chill. But he was just…bones.

You started to edge away again, ready to run.

“you got me there. but, like i said, with you being a human and all, there’s something you should know—”

Too bad you didn’t care to hear it. Without any more hesitation, you pushed away from the beam and rushed across the bridge, running as fast as the cold would allow, not bothering to check if Sans would follow.

You broke into a clearing, a welcome change from the narrow snow path, filled with rocks, a lamp (what…?) and a wooden stall of some sort. It wouldn’t do as shelter. There was nothing there. So you kept running, letting the air freeze your lungs and constrict them but you didn’t know what else to do and—

Something crashed into you.

The ground caught you neatly with a snowdrift and you shook the snow free from your hair before looking up, a swear on your lips, but it died on your tongue when your eyes landed on _another_ skeleton.

“OH! EXCUSE ME, I DIDN’T SEE YOU THERE—WAIT. ARE YOU…ARE YOU A HUMAN!?” His loud, excited voice paused for a thankful moment as he looked past you and grinned, all but hopping up and down in glee. “SANS! LOOK WHAT I FOUND!”

“oh boy…good job, papyrus.”

The tall skeleton—completely different from Sans, dressed up in some weird kind of eighties-style superhero costume, complete with cape—cleared his throat and addressed you, face set in determination. “NYEH HEH HEH! HUMAN. I, PAPYRUS, HEREBY TAKE CUSTODY OF YOU AND WILL DELIVER YOU TO THE ROYAL GUARD. DO NOT TRY TO RUN AS THAT WOULDN’T BE WISE!”

After that marathon, after running into _him_ , you didn’t have it in you anymore. Instead, you looked helplessly between the two skeletons, at a loss, wishing you’d chosen to stay in the ruins after all.

“What—what if I don’t _want_ to go?”

Papyrus’ face fell momentarily, confused, and he looked to the side, thinking for a moment. “WELL…I SUPPOSE I WOULD HAVE TO CONVINCE YOU.”

Sans gave you a vaguely sympathetic but also vaguely amused look as he approached the other skeleton. “hey, bro, i got an idea. why don’t we take Y/N here to our house while you work on convincing them?”

“Y/N?” Papyrus asked, puzzled.

“the human. they’re not looking too hot out here, and you don’t want to hand them off to undyne looking so sick, do you?”

“NO…PROBABLY NOT.” Papyrus turned to you and held out a hand. “Y/N. I WILL NOW LEAD YOU TO OUR CAPTURE ZONE. PLEASE, COME WITH ME.”

You met Sans’ eyes, expression blank, and barely managed to keep from rolling your eyes when he winked at you.

“no trouble at all, right?” he asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

With a cringe, you accepted the skeleton’s helping hand.

* * *

“I’d really rather not stay in here.”

The “capture zone” was nothing more than a drafty garage filled with a dog bed and a bowl filled with dry, stale dog food, complete with another one of those weird gate structures that you figured were meant to be some kind of barricade to keep something in—and failing spectacularly.

It was warm—so, _so_ warm, compared to the outside, heating up your frozen body—but that wasn’t enough to tempt you to throw your dignity aside for this skeleton’s silly capture game. And who knew how many dog allergens covered that bed.

You crossed your arms and stood firm as Papyrus tried to nudge you along and through the pathetic bars with his bony hands, but you were having none of it.

“HUMAN, AS A CAPTIVE TO BE HANDED OVER TO THE ROYAL GUARD, IT WOULD BE IN YOUR BEST INTEREST TO STAY HERE.”

“I don’t think so—Papyrus, right?” You turned to face the tall skeleton, looking up to stare him directly in his eyes…ockets and realizing just how much taller he was. And how broad his upper body was. If he wanted, he could manhandle you wherever he wanted you to be, but he didn’t. Overall, he wasn’t intimidating in attitude—and if you played your cards right, he could be a total pushover. “Uh, if you want to do a better job at convincing me to turn myself in, you should—take me somewhere more comfortable. Like your house.”

His beady eyes creased in worry as he regarded you and mulled over your words. “TO MY HOUSE? I DON’T KNOW. PRISONERS AREN’T USUALLY…HOME IS A PLACE FOR FAMILY AND FRIENDS.”

_Be friends, then._

“Then—then who says we can’t be friends?”

“FRIENDS…?”

“Y-yeah. Maybe I came here specifically just to…be friends with you.” Spitting out a few innocent lies wouldn’t hurt (especially since he’d proven to be a bit...malleable in his decisions).

“WITH _ME?_ NO, OF COURSE! IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW, HUMAN! WHY YOU RAN DIRECTLY INTO ME! WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST SO SAY FROM THE START? THERE’S NO WAY I COULD TURN IN A FRIEND! WOWIE, SO STRAIGHTFORWARD! IS FRIENDSHIP REALLY SO SIMPLE?”

Before you could comprehend how easily he’d accepted your lie, and before you could feel bad about it, he grabbed you by your elbow and dragged you towards the door, rambling on excitedly about spaghetti and how his friend quantity was no longer stagnant.

The house was even warmer—just where you wanted to be. You shook the snow off your shoes and carefully set them beside the front door before venturing further into the house and basking in the wonderful insulation while Papyrus suggested you make yourself at home and made a beeline for the kitchen.

Overall, it was a normal house. Shockingly normal— _humanly_ so. Like any typical flat layout, with a large, open room divided into the dining room and living room, minimally decorated and complete with a large, flat screen TV. Chic and modern, with a distinctive male presence.

You poked cautiously at a rock set on the dining room table, squinting at it curiously, but before you could stoop down and examine it further, Sans’ deep voice sounded behind you.

“you really know how to talk your way outta the doghouse, don’t ya?”

You fought the urge to whirl around as your spine straightened up on reflex, goosebumps crawling across your skin. It was weird, but the smiling skeleton really gave you the heebie jeebies. Even for being a skeleton—Papyrus was one, too, but he seemed overall harmless so you weren’t inclined to want to turn tail and run.

It had to be that deep voice. It struck a chord of unease within you.

And it brought a wave of guilt crashing down, because you’d taken advantage of Papyrus—who seemed kindhearted…and a bit simple—just to get what you wanted.

“…Sorry. I didn’t want to stay out there.” Your voice was small. You clutched at the ash tin in your jacket pocket as you slowly turned to face him.

“and i don’t blame ya. but why not stick around for a while and do papyrus a favor? he’s already making you friendship spaghetti and everything.”

“Maybe. I’m cold, and hungry…and tired,” you admitted, feeling weariness chipping away at you, feeling the heaviness of your eyelids. You hadn’t gotten a moment to rest since leaving Toriel and while there was no sky to tell you how much time had passed, you were certain it had been several hours. “And… is there a bathroom or something here I could borrow?” You noticeably eyed his skeletal body, squinting your eyes slightly.

“a what?”

You froze. “Like—like a shower, you know? I’m kinda grimy and all, and it’d be nice to—get a chance to rest, and clean up and—”

“just kidding. we have one, yeah. upstairs. hope you don’t plan on making a clean getaway.”

“Nope. Just want to take a shower.”

“i’d prefer if you left it where it was.”

You grimaced. His jokes did well to break the ice and warm the atmosphere, but damn were they terrible.

The bathroom was normal—as far as a bathroom without a toilet could be normal, anyway. It looked clean, covered in neat little white and blue mosaic tiles. Untouched. A rubber duck sat on the corner of the bathtub, shining as brightly as the porcelain below it. A bone-print shower curtain was pulled to one side. A matching bone-print shower cap hung on the wall beside it.

You tested the…bone-shaped…soaps. They smelled like soap. Plain, with a powdery scent. And possibly bones.

It really was normal.

Grime and dirt dripped off of you in gobs, streaking the stark white of the tub and oozing down the drain in a spiral. You watched it, transfixed by the still moment of cleanliness and purity—but nausea clawed its way through your stomach as you likened it all to _washing away your sins._ Even if it was all invisible now, Toriel’s dust was on your hands, rooted beneath the surface. An eraser burn seared into your soul.  

_“You’ll have to kill.”_

You thought about Papyrus and Sans. About the Royal Guard. About how you’d narrowly talked your way out of becoming a prisoner. If you hadn’t been able to accomplish that—if the skeleton brothers had been different monsters—what would you have done?

_“What will you do if someone comes after you with real intent to kill? What will you do when they_ do _kill you?”_

Flowey made it sound inevitable. Like you would be killed, like the score would even out because of how you’d killed Toriel before.

_“Over, and over, and_ over? _”_

Like it wouldn’t stop.

Acid and bile burned in your throat and you doubled over as it rushed past your lips, splashing over your feet—and for a moment it appeared red, violent red, before you blinked. But the damage was already done. No matter how far you turned the faucet, the scalding water beating against your back was cold, unable to thaw the chill.

You hated showers. The calm. The quiet. The perfect atmosphere that made you _think_ and _reflect_ and regret.

After redressing, no longer feeling refreshed or renewed despite being clean, you swiped your sleeve against the fogged mirror—and almost didn’t recognize yourself.

The shower did nothing for the dark circles under your eyes. The faint pink tinge of a minor burn remained like a permanent blush on the side of your face. And—your eyes. Did they always look like that…? So—determined? No more than a day could have passed, yet you felt as if you’d experienced enough for a lifetime. Already, something within you had changed. Was changing.

_“What will you do if someone comes after you with real intent to kill? What will you do when they_ do _kill you?”_

You closed your eyes and let out a humorless laugh. The answer was so simple, and you knew it all along.

You wouldn’t do anything.

_You won’t kill…?_

You wouldn’t kill.

Your blood ran cold when the face in the mirror didn’t quite look like your own.

“HUMAN? ARE YOU ALMOST DONE? THE FRIENDSHIP SPAGHETTI IS READY!”

Papyrus’ exuberant voice and loud knocking gave you a start, but it was a welcome distraction. Without looking back at the mirror (ever, ever again) you grabbed for the doorknob and pulled the door open, looking up at the tall, giddy skeleton. He _really_ was happy to have made a new friend. Your heart sank just a little. “Sorry that took a while. I’m hungry. But, uh, what exactly is ‘friendship spaghetti?’”

“IT IS _DELICIOUS_ AND IT IS RESERVED FOR FRIENDS.”

“What’s…in it?”

“OH! WELL…THAT’S A SURPRISE. COME ALONG NOW, HUMAN, AND LET US PARTAKE IN THIS MEAL OF CAMARADERIE.”

It was just spaghetti. Typical, normal spaghetti—but _barely_ spaghetti—with a slightly lumpy meat sauce and limp noodles. But there was no seasoning to speak of. And as you took a small, uncertain bite of the pasta swirled around your fork, you realized it was unsalted, as well. Bland. BLAND. Totally unpalatable. But holy shit were you hungry, you probably would have eaten it if it was extreme al dente in the sense that it would have been uncooked and crunchy sticks coated in ketchup. But instead of undercooked it was overcooked and turned to mush between your teeth, lumpy tomato sauce and all.

You ate and ate until there was nothing left and when you cleaned your plate and looked up, holding it out for seconds, you saw Papyrus watching you with stars in his eyes, gloved hands balled up beneath his mandible in complete and utter delight, eyes squinted in joy.

His excitement and awe, bright as sunshine, made you want to wither. You drew back, changing your mind about seconds and moved to return the plate to the table before he took it from your grasp and zipped back to the kitchen for a second serving.

“Wait…!”

In a heartbeat, the plate was back under your nose, hot food steaming. You grinned uneasily and shoveled the rest of the saucy noodles into your mouth, barely tasting, and swallowed it harshly before—

You swallowed—

— _tried_ to swallow—

The world froze.

You felt every painful lurch of your heart against your chest as your breathing came to a stop, clogged, rattling, such a painful, familiar feeling, and the fork clattered to the tabletop, sparking up a golden light.

* * *

Everything was dark; gritty, static—like the screen of a television flickering to life, only to reveal white noise.

Blurred.

Distorted.

Your body did not feel like your own.

Your body seamlessly blended in with the static and when you moved, jerky, unsteady, it felt like sand sinking through your fingers.

Then, like coming out of the fog, shapes began to form—but there was no clarity yet.

_You died, just like that? From such a simple, basic thing?_

The shapes moved, jerked, like glitches, and you stepped toward them, each foot as heavy as a slab of concrete, pushing, pulling, until you felt the weight crumble away and then you were flying, floating, simply propelled forward after the shapes that stretched further and further on, away, out of reach.

_You’re stronger than that. Keep trying._

The blurs vanished and you realized you were chasing ghosts.

You were alone.

The static clicked away into darkness, all-consuming darkness, and then your eyes opened.

Bright, white snow blinded you.

* * *

**CONTINUE <**

**RESET**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might just be a humor shtick, but there aren't any toilets in the underground, huh?
> 
> I guess you could say the humans are  
> shit out of luck
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Memories IV

_Snowfall wasn’t a rarity where you lived. Mostly, it stayed in the mountains, only rarely drifting down with the chill to coat your home. But this was one of the precious times when it turned your property into a winter wonderland, blanketed with white, white, white, as far as the eye could see. The only downside was it knocked out your internet connection and left you hanging in limbo as far as deadlines were concerned. You tried to push due dates back as far as humanly possible when the weather turned. If you could help it, you limited your jobs during the entire season. It might have cost you a customer or two, but there was only so much you could do with a limited phone service to keep up communication and transfer files._

_This was your downtime. A pause from the daily helter skelter of juggling work and house work, cooking lessons and personal studies. Your understanding of ASL was coming along to the point where you could comfortably keep up with Frisk’s normal pace of talking without having to stop and think too hard on meanings._

_You moved away from the kitchen window, letting the curtains fall back into place and hide the snow from view, to check on the water boiling on the stove. Steam billowed from the surface as small bubbles roiled amid the liquid. You carefully removed the pan from the stove and evenly distributed its contents into two cocoa-filled mugs on the counter beside it, methodical, careful not to spill anything. Your cooking might have left much to be desired, but you could at least handle this._

_“Hey, I—” when you saw your friend sleeping, head lolled against the armrest of the couch, you pressed your lips together tightly to silence yourself, knowing they drifted off just recently, not willing to wake them so suddenly._

_Frisk’s hand rested against the pages of their book, fingers holding the place like a bookmark, and you glimpsed the title—something complex you didn’t care to dwell on, though they tended to read quite a bit—as you leaned down to set their mug of hot cocoa on the coffee table nearby. It would be cold when they woke up and saw it, but…it was the thought that counted, right? They’d left you a mug of tea the few times you’d passed out at the dining room table working late, so you were determined to return the gesture._

_Their sleeping face was peaceful. Not that you lingered to watch like a creep, but you did hover a moment, deliberating over whether or not you should cover them with a blanket because it was a bit cool in the living room, to the point where the tip of your nose felt a little chilled, and, dammit, you were determined to be a good friend who thought about these things. But it was hard to ignore, because other times you’d caught them napping in the same place, they looked troubled. Furrowed eyebrows, clenched jaw—fitful._

_But—no. This was calm. Good, restful sleep. You didn’t have the heart to interrupt it by accidentally waking them._

_You gave a small shrug, smiling helplessly to yourself as you held your own cocoa mug close and turned away, intent on checking your e-mail to see if the finicky wifi signal returned._

_You only managed a few steps across the floorboards before a sound stopped you._

_Not just a sound—a voice._

_Unfamiliar, like a stranger on the other end of a phone call, hoarse, barely above a whisper._

_So quiet, but the sudden sound of it could have been a booming echo in the mountains._

_Both feet planted firmly on the ground as your shoulders tensed. It was a strange feeling, hearing your friend’s voice for the first time. At the same time, you felt you shouldn’t have heard it because you had no idea they could speak at all. But the words remained firm in your mind, imprinted._

_Behind you, Frisk shifted on the couch and you knew they’d woken up. You knew by the sound of pages bending and snapping together as the book was shut; by the light, scraping sound of the ceramic mug against the tabletop as it was lifted up._

_Slowly, you turned to look them in the eye, vaguely recognizing their nod of thanks._

_The question rushed to the tip of your tongue, words falling out in a jumble before you could just stop a moment and think._

_“What’s ‘chara…?’”_

_A slight smile froze on your lips. Mortified heat rushed to your cheeks as you realized what you’d asked and how you’d pried, because the last time you’d asked something so personal it didn’t end well at all._

_You didn’t want to see Frisk cry again._

_But, instead of tearing up, smiling sadly, looking away—something—they also froze. Their eyes widened, their fingers gripped the handle of their mug so tightly they trembled and you half expected them to jump to their feet and run away. But they didn’t move._

_The deadlock between you remained for what felt like hours, a stilled sliver of time broken only by the rising cold._

_The chill began to ache in your fingertips. You broke the gaze, glancing to the fireplace, and in that same instant, Frisk’s hands moved._

**_It’s nothing. Have you heard me talk in my sleep before?_ **

_“No. This was, uh, the first time.” You took your time answering, but when you did, you finally moved again, heading to the fireplace to light up the gas burner. That reaction definitely wasn’t for a small, simple_ nothing. _“…Are you okay, Frisk?” You weren’t sure if you should ask, but it didn’t seem right at all to just leave it at that._

_They took a moment to stare into the hot cocoa mug before taking a sip and setting it down once again. **I’m fine. It was just a bad dream. Don’t worry about it, Y/N.**_

_You nodded slowly, watching as they picked up the mug and continued to drink, acting normal as always, like nothing was wrong. Well, maybe you’d imagined it. Maybe things really were fine. You blinked, looking away into the gas-lit flames, reveling in the warmth that unfurled from the artificial logs._

_Instead of prying, instead of digging for answers, for something that seemed incredibly selfish in that moment, you turned your mind inwards and felt a small smile tug at your lips._

_“You know, my mom used to tell me I talked in my sleep sometimes. It wasn’t over bad dreams or anything. Only silly things. Most of the time it was just babble, but when I woke up in the morning she always had a funny story to share about it. And she always had a mug of hot cocoa waiting for me— that’s what clued me in that it happened again. Sometimes I wonder if I still do it, but there’s…not really a way to tell.”_

_It was only a half-lie. You would have liked it if your mother was the one to treat you so kindly, but it was, in truth, your grandmother. But you liked to tell yourself lies, too, sometimes, just to make the world a bit more bearable._

_Opening up like that took strength. You realized you’d never shared something so deep and personal before, and that maybe, by taking that first step, Frisk would start to rely on you a little more. They would know you were there to support them if they needed it. They would know this was a safe place._

_They would know that you cared and that would never change._


	9. Colder

“Not again…” You looked back to see the doors to the ruins behind you and the snowy path stretching before you once again.

You didn’t even kill anyone this time. No one died.

Unless…you did.

Your hand flew to your throat—you winced at the feeling of cold fingers against warm skin—before you glanced down at the red heart on your chest.

A dry laugh left your lips. _‘Imagine that. Death by spaghetti.’_

And another second chance.

Wait—another…?

Just how had you been able to take such a _final_ event in stride? Dying was meant to be permanent. Even with magic. Right?

Right…?

You squeezed your eyes shut and clenched your hand around the ash tin in your pocket. The faint sense that something was wrong flickered in your thoughts, like you were taking one step forward and two steps back.

* * *

Just like before, heavy footsteps plodded along behind you as you stepped onto the bridge. 

Shivers still raced down your spine, but you managed to keep a grip on your fear and gulped down the whimper as you turned to face Sans.

Maybe it was the curiosity. Because the first time was a blessing—Toriel didn’t acknowledge or allude to the rewind after it happened, and if she was aware it happened, surely she wouldn’t have treated you so kindly.

But you were the one to die, this time—and you _did_ remember.

You wondered if anyone else remembered, too. Or if it all came undone.

The short skeleton’s pale face was cast in shadow, save for the pinpricks of light in his sockets and the eerie glint along his grinning teeth. Hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, still wearing house slippers—there was nothing to be scared of this time.

“Sans?”

His mouth remained fixed in a smile, yet you had the distinct impression he was frowning. Darkness swallowed the lights in his eyes and the air seemed to stop around him, dropping into frightening subzero chill. 

Your scalp prickled. Sweat beaded on your brow. Bad—it was a bad idea. Dangerous. You took a step back on the ball of your foot, ready to run, but the moment your shoe shifted in the snow and broke the silence, the skeleton’s face returned to normal and he stared at you, straight into your eyes, and you couldn’t break the gaze. There was still definitely something to be scared of here.

“…who are you? have we met before?”

You caught yourself. Of course he wouldn’t remember, not after you went back in time and undid it all. It was stupid to even think. “Uh—um, no. I’m Y/N—”

“i know your name. i remember. i…remember. but, kid, you can RESET. who the hell are you? why is this happening again?”

He _did_ remember. But by the way he spoke, you weren’t sure that was a good thing.

“I don’t—I don’t know?”

“where’s _____?”

“Who?”

“_____.”

The name seemed to die on the air as soon as it left his mouth. At first, you thought it was a mistake—maybe he’d spoken so quietly you didn’t hear. But this time you knew, there was nothing _to_ hear. Sans didn’t notice, or know, because the chilled atmosphere returned and the voids in his eyes sucked in whatever warmth remained. The heart on your chest throbbed.

“I said,” he repeated in a voice unlike his own, “Where’s F

r

i

s

k.”

The letters trickled into your ears slowly, drifting through frozen air, but when it all untangled and fell into place, the name hit you like a brick. No, like a corkscrew to the gut, twisting up into your heart, stealing your breath.

You very nearly staggered as you pulled the ash tin out of your pocket, fingers trembling, nails scraping the metal surface. Still, you couldn’t break eye contact with Sans and you were sure he noticed every crinkle of pain that creased your skin as you held out the remnant in a shaking palm because you had to face the reality of the situation even if you wished you could just _forget_ you had to face it because you would carry it with you forever.

“Frisk is…dead.”

There was no way to undo _that_ but if you could, _god_ , if you could…

It was the first time you’d spoken the words aloud. Publicly acknowledged it as truth. Made it fully _real_ and it ripped out the stitches you’d tried to mend it with.

Tears sprang to your eyes and stung in the cold, and as you opened your mouth to say something, _anything_ , to get the lights back in Sans’ eyes and get him to drop the terrifying front, to get him to _understand_ because he knew Frisk—he _knew Frisk?_ —you…found yourself unable to.

Something strange stuck out of your chest, pierced through the red heart—two somethings. Three somethings. Four. _Five._

You counted six before death ripped the world away.

* * *

When you came out of the static death-haze, you were right back where you started.

When you made it to the bridge, you only counted to five, without a word.

* * *

Six.

 

Five again.

 

Four.

 

Three.

 

Two.

 

One.

 

One.

 

One.

 

_One._

 

ONE.

* * *

_“What will you do if someone comes after you with real intent to kill? What will you do when they_ do _kill you?”_

_“Over and over and over?”_

_“kill you?”_

_“i’m not here to hurt you.”_

_“There are those who will hurt you. Remember that—promise me you will.”_

_You won’t kill…?_

The words echoed. Warnings, lies, taunts—all repeating together in an overlaying discord, surrounding you.

Mixing with dissonant static—cutting off, distorting, rewinding, repeating—

You didn’t move. Didn’t _want_ to. Not if it meant dying again. And again. And _again_ because god you know you’d said it, so how could you get out of this _without killing?_ You _had_ to keep going and he was in the way. But—you didn’t even know _how_ he killed you, it all happened so fast, so how could you possibly stop it…?

Nothing ever hurt so much. You remembered it. Felt it all, even in your fingertips, the all-consuming, searing-cold pain, burning away your hold on the world, on your goal, on your—on your mind. That little red heart shattered a dozen times. Yet it always returned, perfect in one piece.

Only to break again.

This was hell. Had to be. Eternal punishment.

But what did you do that was bad enough to deserve _this?_

He said he wouldn’t hurt you.

He said it.

_Promised_.

Wait—that wasn’t right. He didn’t promise you a thing. Did he…?

You were coming undone. Losing your grip. Mixing things up in your head. Making things up.

And making your way to the bridge once again.

Walking with an unsteady gait, shaking knees, quivering hands, trembling lips, tears streaking your cheeks. The cold didn’t bother you anymore. Because death was colder than snow.

But it wasn’t _real_ death. Just a sick joke.

The twig on the path no longer cracked, no longer alerted you of his presence. But he never killed you before you reached the bridge. Never showed up a second sooner. And whether that was some twisted mercy, some jaded kindness, you didn’t know. You always walked right into it.

You…walked into it.

But this time you stopped short. Chest heaving, sweat soaking your back, you planted your feet firmly against the ground a dozen paces from the bridge.

“D-didn’t you promise?” You spoke to the scenery, tongue heavy. Mouth cotton. You kept your back to the pathway behind you, to Sans, fighting to keep your voice, and your determination, from fizzling out, because if you turned to face him you knew it would.

“Promise?”

The deep timbre of his voice sounded close. Yet also far. Creeping at your neck, but also echoing from the trees. The silence distorted your hearing in waves, or maybe the pulse beating in your ears hindered it. Your head spun.

“I never promised anything for _you._ ”

“Then, how—how did you know Frisk? _How?_ ” Your hands clutched at the ash tin in your pocket, holding it tight, but not feeling. “A-are you…were you part of their family? Who are you? _How did you not know they died?_ ” The words came out in a choked sob.

You’d rather die a hundred deaths than have to say it once more because it was a fresh wound all over again and your body, your mind, your _soul_ ached.

Dead silence hung in the air.

Then, he spoke.

“Human, that question’s for you. Who are you? Why are you here?”

And suddenly you felt so weak, exhausted, heavy, limbs weighing you down like lead. You looked to your feet and the red heart on your chest caught your eye—because it was no longer red. It was deep blue and you couldn’t move.

“I don’t—I-I don’t know. …I’m just Y/N.”

“I thought you might just be another lost human. But if things reset—you shouldn’t be here. It should be _Frisk_.”

“I already…please don’t make me say it again.”

You turned around—but not of your own volition. Something pulled you, forced you to face the skeleton, and you didn’t have it in you to resist. Saw no point.

There were no pinpricks of light in his eyes. Only in one, a bright blue glow. He didn’t speak. Only held out a hand and fixed you with that frozen grin that wasn’t a grin. One that wanted answers.

“I don’t… _I don’t know_ , okay? I fell into the mountain when I brought…when I brought the ashes. I’m just trying to get out.”

You didn’t know what else to say. There was nothing else to say. There was nothing to lie about—not to that face. Not about _Frisk_.

The feeling clenching down on your heart eased, and the red hue returned. The flashing light in Sans’ left eye dimmed until the pinpricks returned as his hand fell to his side as his shoulders slumped. Your legs failed you and you sank to your knees in the snow.

“…S-Sans?” Tears ran fresh down your cheeks.

“…They’re really _dead?_ ” The way he spoke the word with finality, heaviness, crippled your heart.

“You are part of their family, aren’t you?”

“That’s where they ended up? After everything?”

You were about to respond, but the sight of tears welling up and spilling over his cheekbones, dripping to the ground, stopped you short.

“No one else remembered. I couldn’t get any _answers_. But if this—if this is it, then what the hell was it all for? Why did you have to tell me that, kid?”

“I…don’t know.” You half expected to die again and for a moment you just braced yourself, hands curling into fists against the cold ground. The moment passed. Feeling slowly returned as you sat on your knees in the snow, cold seeping into your fingers, through to the bone. “I don’t even know what’s going on.” You didn’t mean to sound as miserable as you did. But part of you realized he _understood_. Part of you recognized him as someone who shared the loss.

He was just as confused as you were.

There was nothing terrifying about him now. He was small and scared and sad. Hurting. Upset.

“I’m sorry.”

Sans didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at you anymore, keeping his head angled toward the ground.

You slowly pushed yourself to your feet. Painstakingly slow. Didn’t bother brushing the snow off your jeans and took a step back. And another. When he didn’t make a move, you turned around—and he didn’t stop you. Didn’t make a sound.

No more talking. No more answers.

No more _dying._

You crossed the bridge.

* * *

Papyrus was in the same place as before—this time, you didn’t run into him. Just barely avoided it because when he moved he was like a bulldozer.

You managed to stay on your feet and spoke up before he could get the (admittedly endearing) theatrics rolling.

“I’m human. …Take me to the Royal Guard.”

“HU—HUMAN?!” His gloved hands smacked against his cheekbones as his eyes bugged out.

It was easier this way. The first time through the winding, snowy path was easy because you were with the two skeleton brothers. It was a confusing, twisting, _cold_ way alone and you weren’t entirely confident you could make it through on your own without…dying.

It would be easy to make up a story, but you were done taking advantage of him. That, and…if Sans was part of Frisk’s family, then so was he. You didn’t think you could lie to him again even if you tried.

And you were so, so tired.

“WHAT A COINCIDENCE! I WAS JUST LOOKING FOR A HUMAN! AND CLEARLY YOU WERE AWARE, BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T TRY TO HIDE! YOU KNEW THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD FIND YOU, NYEH HEH HEH.”

“That’s right.” A forced grin lifted the edge of your mouth, but as you watched Papyrus, it slowly shifted into a genuine smile. He stood proudly, chest puffed out, hands on his hip-bones, completely accomplished. How in the hell did someone as cool and harmless as him find his way into playing sentry man for the Royal Guard? Compared to Sans, he was a total marshmallow of a monster. An adorable one. A…safe one.

Your death marathon was over. For now. Still, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder and flinch when any little thing moved in your peripheral vision.

“I’m, uh, at your mercy.”

“I AM TAKING YOU CAPTIVE NOW, OBEDIENT HUMAN. I WILL LEAD YOU TO THE HOLDING CELL!”

You held out your arm in a mock-gesture of defeat and he took it—gently—almost gentlemanly, gloved hand wrapped just above your elbow.

And then he dragged you along, running full speed ahead to Snowdin.

* * *

You were _grateful_ to be in that over-glorified prison-cell of a drafty garage by the time you were allowed a moment to rest and catch your breath. For a moment—no, more than just one. For several moments on the way there, you feared your lungs would give out and you’d find yourself tossed back in time, left to do this all over again.

Left to face _Sans_ again.

The skeleton’s crying face rose to the forefront of your thoughts and you sighed, sitting up from the dog bed (it made you sneeze like crazy, but it was the only comfortable thing in the room) pushed into the corner of the garage and folding your arms around your knees to fend off the sudden chill that breezed through the mouse hole in the far wall.

There were several things you wanted to ask him, because he seemed like the one who had answers. Or, the closest thing to answers. You would have asked Papyrus if he knew Frisk, but you were too busy trying to breathe during that death sprint.

_‘What would Frisk do…?’_ You mulled over the words, burying your face into the warm sleeves of your hoodie and fighting back a sniffle as your eyes watered.

Frisk wouldn’t have killed Toriel.

Wouldn’t have tried to trick Papyrus with friendship.

They were the beloved monster ambassador.

They wouldn’t hurt a fly.

_If you want to leave… you’ll have to kill._

_If you want to leave…_

“‘If you want to leave…?’”

Your head snapped up, mussed hair flying.

…How did Frisk leave Mount Ebott?

You wracked your brain, searching for an answer, a hint, a memory, but to no avail. That tale was never shared. Or you’d forgotten.

No one could help you, here.

No—that wasn’t entirely true. There was someone else who’d spoken a name that didn’t quite reach your ears before, and now that you finally heard it, you realized it had to be Frisk’s.

Flowey’s reaction was strange—just like Sans’. They were both aware something was going on.

You clenched your fists into the material of your sleeves, covering your red heart, almost cradling it, and took a deep breath, gathering up courage as you glanced around the room.

“Flowey…?”

He was watching, before. Knew about Toriel, anyway. You could be talking to thin air for all you knew, but it was worth a shot.

The only response you were met with was the gentle wind whistling through the cracks.

“You knew Frisk, too, didn’t you?”

The question hung in the air.

‘ _Come on, little devil on my shoulder. This is the time you should come to mock me. For dying. Over and over. And not doing a thing about it.’_

“I don’t _want_ to find things out on my own. You’re there, aren’t you? What does this mean?”

Still, silence. The dull sound of footsteps passing by outside, shuffling through the snow.

“Would it hurt to tell me?”

It was hard to accept it, but when no answers came, it was clear you were talking to yourself, left to feel foolish for even trying.

You dropped your forehead onto your folded arms with a sigh, hopes dashed. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, holding your legs close to your chest, sitting against the wall until the grooves of the boards dug into your back, and you didn’t even really care to look up when the door rattled open and muted footsteps approached you.

“kid.”

The sound of Sans’ voice snapped you out of your slump and you lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes, to see him standing just between the cell bars that were far too gapped to keep anything in, hands in his pockets, ever-present grin more like an exaggerated grimace, drained of happiness.

“tell me everything.”

You told him.

* * *

“…I can’t remember some things. I guess I got all scrambled up after falling. I didn’t even remember their name at first.” The story came naturally. Maybe because he asked. Maybe because you were afraid to lie, or to keep it hidden. Maybe because you needed _release;_ absolution from shouldering it all, and he was as good as the guy sitting on the other side of the confessional as you were going to get.

Maybe to finally get some answers instead of always giving them.

Sans listened with a cold sobriety this time, no tears in sight.

“I’ve been hearing things.” You blurted out the words without thinking, if only because you were taking a shot at trusting him. Or just because you needed to say it to someone. It didn’t matter. If he didn’t like what you said, what was the worst he could do? Kill you again? “I don’t understand any of this.”

“what kind of things?”

“It’s, uh, hard to explain it, but…things that sort of tell me what to do? Things that make sense. That seem right. Like a voice, voices…I don’t know.”

“like something’s in your head…?”

You nodded.

“what do you know about this resetting business?”

“You mean—when I keep coming back? I don’t—it only happens when I die. Or—” you stopped yourself. Sans noticed the pause and stared at you, urging you to continue, and you figured there was no point hiding it anymore if you were baring all your secrets now. “When I—when I killed someone I didn’t mean to.”

“And just who did you kill?” His voice went cold.

“She’s so nice—so kind. I didn’t—I didn’t know. I’ll never be sorry enough. But Toriel’s alive now. It’s alright,” you assured him. And yourself.

“Alright? It’s _alright?_ ”

A terrifying stillness gripped you then, and the flashing in Sans’ eye warned you you were treading thin ice.

“You humans waltz in and do whatever you please, like this is your own personal playground, and you hurt us, you take away, you give back, you take again and then _make it all right_ and don’t think a thing about it and you think that it’s all just fine?” His hand shook as he held it forward, and his voice cracked. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were out. We were _free._ ” The light vanished just as quickly as it came and his shoulders slumped, arm dropping back to his side.

“…Was I an idiot for believing that was the end? For giving up on _giving up?_ ”

You pressed your back against the wall and drew in a breath, preparing for death. “I-I don’t know. I told you I don’t understand this. But I would be mad. Upset. Too.”

“Mad…? Upset…? Oh, kid. That’s not even the half of it. Imagine living the same thing over and over, a thousand—million—times. Remembering some of it, losing the rest of it, and getting to the point where you’re just so fucking _done_ that you don’t even care anymore. But then hope, real hope—Frisk—comes along and it all finally comes to an end. There’s happiness. Real friends. Real happiness. For so long. Years. And then it all gets torn away and reset for—what?”

Your patience snapped. “I don’t _know_ ,” you repeated, firmer, knowing your dozen deaths were nothing but a chip in the iceberg of his experience, but you were just so tired of not knowing what to say. “Just—stop that. Stop talking at me like that—I don’t know what else to say. I don’t _know_. It wasn’t my choice to be here! If you want to kill me, just do it again already. Quit drawing it out.” You didn’t want to hear anymore. Couldn’t.

The bitter outburst didn’t seem to faze him, yet he fell silent for a long moment before speaking again.

“…I’m not gonna kill ya again, kid. I just thought—when you said they were dead, I thought _you_ were the one who did it. Thought this was your fault. I jumped the gun. A lot. Sorry ‘bout that.”

He took a deep breath and put his hands back in his pockets, glancing up at the ceiling.

“Sometimes it’s too much. I don’t think it’s your fault; I’m not blaming you. It isn’t supposed to be this way. Nothing is. And even though you say it, kid, it doesn’t feel like Frisk is completely gone.”

“What do you mean?”

His eyes shifted as he mulled over his response. “It doesn’t sound like you’re the one with the ability to reset. The way Frisk explained it, it was something they could do at any time. Can you do that…?”

You shrugged. “I don’t think so. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Then it might not be your natural ability. It could be…that something is helping you out. Some _one._ ”

“Are you saying…?” It didn’t make sense. If Sans was saying what you thought he was trying to say, then…

You shot to your feet and shook your head.

“Are you trying to tell me they’re still _alive?_ I—I saw—They…” You reached for the ash tin in your pocket and jabbed your hand out, held it out for him to see. “ _This_ is all that’s left of them. Just this! Quit—quit saying things that just— _hurt_ , okay?!”

Sans’ shoulders tensed as his eyes flitted to the small tin. Then they moved to meet your eyes, almost flinching at the ferocity in your teary gaze. Your hand shook as you flicked the lid open. “…It’s empty. I scattered them. This is what they wanted. They wanted to come back _here_. I never asked for any of this shit. I just wanted to do something for someone important to me.”

His eyes moved away again. “…What do you think gets left behind when a human dies?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

He sighed and shook his head, holding out a bony finger toward the red heart near your chest. “…It’s a SOUL, kid. And sometimes it’s something else.”

You looked down at the red heart and swallowed down the lump in your throat. You held a hand over it and looked back up. “What’s that ‘something else?’”

“The thing that helps the SOUL exist after death.” He took a step forward, passing the wooden bars. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying Frisk is still alive.” He stopped a few paces in front of you. “But whatever’s going on here, kid, you can help us. You can do what Frisk did.” You angled your glance down as he held out a hand and watched it warily. “Will you help us get out of here again, Y/N?”

It’s what Frisk would want.

It would get you out of here.

It’s what everyone wanted.

“…Can I trust you?”

His gaze remained steady on yours. “Yeah. Promise.”

You looked him in the eyes, searching for a lie, another death, but found none. No, instead, you found hope.

You took his hand.

* * *

**CONTINUE <**

**RESET**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next set of memories will be posted soon, too. A not-quite double update but still close together.


	10. Memories V

**_Are you sure you want to come with me, Y/N?_ **

_“Yeah! I can’t_ always _make you shop for me.” You shrugged your shoulders and fidgeted with the loose threads in your cardigan’s pockets, lingering just past the front door, reusable shopping bags hanging from one arm. “And I need a little break. Stress relief.”_

_Frisk wasn’t stupid. They were well aware your last outdoor venture was to the largest nearby city to visit your grandparents—the only time you’d really left the property since meeting them. You did wander outdoors often, to the edges of the lawn, to the lake, to the storage shed in the back where most of your old art supplies and school assignments were stored when your focus went digital. But you never went into town—and the town that sat at the foot of the mountain, just on the other side, could barely even be called a town. Just a depot with some train tracks, a short row of homes and a gas station beside an all-purpose shopping mart barely bigger than a convenience store. There was another town fifty or so miles beyond that with more amenities, where you suspected they did most of the shopping, because the bags on your arm displayed a store logo that wasn’t present anywhere nearby._

_And, really, it wasn’t so bad going places when Frisk was around. Before, you wouldn’t bother, but now, being out in public was…tolerable._

_“I’ll be fine,” you assured. “Really.”_

**_Alright. I believe you. Have you been to this town before?_ **

_“No.”_

**_Are you taking your phone?_ **

_You reached into your pocket, noting the item was missing. Last thing you needed was to be nagged with the impulse to check work e-mails, but…Frisk was right to ask. It was a bad idea to leave home without it. You felt a small smile creep onto your face as you hurried up to your room to check the bedside table—it was such a parental thing to ask, really._

_Or maybe you just neglected being responsible sometimes._

* * *

_Something about the town’s grocery store atmosphere energized you. Maybe because you were finally doing something for yourself, taking that small step—even if it just meant crossing a few things off a list to keep you going for another week._

_…At least, that’s how you felt before you spotted a few monsters mixed in among the other customers. Pushing their carts along without a care, blending in seamlessly with humanity, gossiping and chattering together._

_It was different, seeing them up close and not on the other side of a screen._

_Not in a disgusting, terrible way, but in a way that froze your feet to the ground as you stared on in wonder, speechless, marveling at the bumps and spikes sprouting from their colorful, mottled skin—at the fur springing up from beneath shirt collars and sleeves. At their snouts, at their tails, at their_ voices…

_You’d had the odd monster client, before. Without seeing them, with only hearing their voice, they could have been just any old human._

_It seemed a shame you’d never bothered to conjure up an otherworldly monster visage for those customers because, despite what you’d expected, what you’d feared, seeing monsters on the surface was…wonderful._

_You blinked when Frisk nudged your arm._

**_…You’ve really never seen a monster up close before, have you?_ **

_“No—”you cleared your throat, “Nope. I guess—maybe that’s weird? I don’t know. This is weird. But not in a bad way. In a sort of…magical way?” A grin tugged at your lips as you looked their way—and then faltered when you spied the hat on their head, brim pulled low over their face._

_One person who’d never seen a monster, and one person seen by all monsters. What a pair you made._

_The magnitude of Frisk’s voluntary shopping trips crashed down on you, then, as you realized they were indeed a familiar face—celebrity-tier, for all they accomplished—in monster culture. Yet they still ventured out into the public, even at the cost of being recognized, even at the cost of losing that peace and quiet they’d come here for._

_Frisk didn’t notice your hesitation. Or if they did, didn’t mention it. Instead, they smiled._

_“Well, I’ll go get what I need. Meet back here when we’re done?”_

_Now they hesitated. Worry creased their brow, and they tilted their head slightly as they regarded you, but settled for nodding when you took a confident step past them._

* * *

  _You knew it was rude to stare. Between the aisles you passed, you couldn’t help but sneak a few covert glances at the monsters as they browsed the shelves. It was so…domestic. So pedestrian. Hardly a thing to bat an eye at until you did a double-take and realized they were_ monsters _. Honest-to-god, authentic monsters._

_A giddiness you’d never known—instilled with faint fear of the unknown, but they did go hand-in-hand—filled you as you approached a blue, reptilian monster holding a handbasket that blocked the ice cream freezer door you needed to open. “E-excuse me,” you offered, voice quiet, almost shy, as glassy, reptilian eyes swiveled your way._

_“Oh! No, excuse me, little one. Please, go ahead.”_

_The monster’s raspy, elderly voice nearly made you jump, and your hands shook as you pulled open the freezer door and quickly grabbed a carton of your favorite flavor. You expected her to leave, but she remained standing beside you, watching you curiously. No doubt thinking you strange, not even considering you’d never_ spoken _to a monster before._

_“So sorry to ask, dear young one, but could you reach the dessert on the top shelf? The one in the middle?”_

_It was such a normal conversation. You couldn’t help but smile as you nodded and rose up on the balls of your feet to reach for a box of sugar-free strawberry popsicles._

_“Thank you. So sweet of you,” the monster smiled a gummy smile at you as she took the box you held out—and then paused to dig around in the basket hanging from her small arm, before looking up and holding something out in her pale palm. “Please, take this.”_

_You held out your hand curiously, low enough for the short monster to reach, and felt your eyebrows rise as she dropped two striped, purple-cellophane-wrapped candies into your awaiting hand._

_“‘Spider Candy…?’” you muttered to yourself, and truly to yourself, because the old monster had already bustled down the aisle. A quiet laugh left your lips. How…cute._

_You couldn’t wait to tell Frisk._

_There was a skip in your step as you completed your shopping—and even had the courage to smile shyly and nod your head at passing monsters whether or not they acknowledged you first._

_You were ready to wrap things up, heading to the check-out and looking for Frisk, when your phone buzzed in your pocket, stopping you in your tracks._

_What a time for your job to interrupt your day._

_You rolled your eyes as they skimmed the unknown number across your screen—you never paid that much mind, because most of them were strangers and you couldn’t afford to screen calls…most of the time—and flicked your thumb over the call accept icon, pressing the phone to your ear._

_“Hi, this is Y/N.”_

_The voice that replied was rough with static over a bad line, tinny and deep. Almost artificial. Maybe—a monster? Not something that would have crossed your mind before today’s excursion._

_“Y/N? Good, right number. I have a question about that boarding offer you got listed. It still available?”_

_“No?” Your brow scrunched. Was it still open online? You were sure you marked the listing as closed the day Frisk arrived, months ago. That someone was calling about it now—the first since Frisk, the_ only other one _since Frisk, you realized with chagrin, wondering just how long you would have waited if not for them—was…bizarre. “There’s no more space available. Sorry.”_

_“Don’t worry about it. Did anyone by the name of Frisk stop by to look when it was available?”_

_The shopping basket nearly slipped from your hand. Your heart thumped, throat closed up, shoulders tensed, and perspiration beaded on your forehead. But you were proud to force an answer not two seconds after the question was asked—even if your voice trembled. “I can’t tell you something like that. Who is this?”_

_The line cut._

_For a moment, all you could do was stare at your phone. Confused. Curious. Really confused. And worried._

_Frisk approached while you stood still a few feet away from the nearest check-out line, shopping basket filled to the brim. A hand waved in front of your face and snapped you out of your stupor._

**_What’s wrong? What happened?_ **

_Your eyes drifted to their signing hands as they repeated the question, seeking an answer, confused and worried in their own right, and then you met their eyes._

_It would be easy to lie. To keep it from them. They came here to get away…right? To have peace. So—you didn’t have to bother them with something like this. But…they had the right to know._

_“Um…someone…called for you?”_

_Frisk’s expression sobered. Mouth dropped into a thin line, jaw tensed. They held out a hand for your phone and you tilted the screen in their direction so they could see the caller’s number._

_Their lips parted slightly in a shadow of a grimace and faint lines creased the corners of their eyes as they read the number, eyes darting across it several times, memorizing it…recognizing it._

**_Don’t worry about it, Y/N. It was… Sorry. Just don’t worry about it. Okay?_ **

_“But—”_

_Frisk gently pushed your phone back to you and flashed a pleading smile._

_“…I know. Okay.” You nodded in understanding and pulled one of the spider candies from your pocket as an offering of goodwill, because they really looked like they needed it._

_But when Frisk saw the wrapper, their smile fell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! I don't have anything else pre-written so the next update might take a while again. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


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